Keeping Up With Clara Oswald
by Crazyfangirl23
Summary: John Smith (aka the Doctor) has never known or associated himself with anyone like Clara Oswald. She intrigues him immensely but apparently, for all the wrong reasons. Contains dark themes.
1. Chapter 1

Keeping Up With Clara Oswald

Chapter 1

John rested his head against the polished wood table in his drunken state. A hand still holding his whiskey, he closed his eyes for a second. He shouldn't be at the pub, not this late, anyway. But today, he just wasn't feeling it. He had gotten rejected again, and he was far becoming an alcoholic as every time he did he was obligated to go for a drink to drown in his frequent sorrows. And it had been happening a lot recently. Anyone could tell from his old plaid shirt and tweed jacket he had become scruffier by the day. Even light stubble (which rarely ever happened) appeared on his chin. He slowly banged his head in frustration, making a mental and important note to get his life back on track, stop waiting for something to happen and go get an actual job. He knew in the darker part of his brain he would go nowhere, and yet he still felt a sickening hope that was the fourteen year old in him telling himself he could do it. He snorted aloud, his forehead becoming increasingly colder as it still balanced on top of the shiny mahogany. No one was interested. He was purely amateur. Nothing else. Suddenly, a noise alerted him and he raised his head to watch an attractive woman slide into the seat opposite him. His eyes were red from too much drinking and blurred his vision slightly, yet he could clearly make out her face. A pretty brunette with smoky, long eyelashes and makeup, perfect lips. Her legs didn't brush his under the rather intimate table in which he guessed she was fairly short in height. She had a charm about her from first sight, but as he observed closer there was a hint of 'bad girl' in there that he thought was surprising. Most of the girls he met were average, normal working classed people with extreme feminist hobbies.

'Sorry, I'm just getting away from a date. Didn't go too well, but I planned that out anyway. Told him to fuck off.'

'That's okay. Where is he now?' His voice sounded deeper than usual. It was probably the alcohol.

'Kicked him out. Literally. Bit of a creep, tryna touch me up and everything. Thought a date might be fun, but definitely not for me. I can't believe Rose got me to do this. I'm going straight back to the club.'

She was very talkative, and very confident. All the makings of a fearless 'bad girl' as he had first perceived.

'Well, you're not. You're sitting here.' He smiled.

'Hm. Thought you looked lonely. Why waste a good date, be it awful or boring? Nice to meet someone that's...a little more normal now and again. Are you drinking that?' She asked, suddenly diverting the subject and pointing at his untouched tumbler.

'Uh, no.' He pushed it toward her respectively, and she downed it with the familiarity of a heavy drinker. This would be interesting, he thought. His night might actually get a little better.

'I'm Clara, by the way. Clara Oswald.'

She held out her hand, but instead of shaking it like a normal person, she clapped it. His eyebrows raised a fraction, but replied politely.

'Uhm, I'm John Smith. Everyone calls me the Doctor though, bit of an alias.'

'Good to know you, Doctor. You're not actually one, are you?' She asked suspiciously, eyes narrowing.

'No, I'm not. Why that reaction?'

'What reaction?'

'You seemed alarmed, suspicious. Why would a doctor make you nervous?'

'They don't make me nervous. I just don't like them. And why the advanced analysis?'

'I'm a writer, it's kind of in the job. Describing a situation.'

'Oh. Well, I'm an artist. Of sorts.'

He quirked an eyebrow. 'Of sorts?'

'You wouldn't call my art, art. It's actually quite grim and horrific. Too dark and emotionally powerful to be considered anything professional. I'm very extreme with my artwork. You wouldn't like it.'

'How do you know?'

'Because ordinary people don't.'

'Ordinary? I'm not ordinary at all, Clara, I assure you.'

'Well, whatever you call uninteresting and non-experimental humans, then.'

'You know nothing about me.'

'But you're not the type. You don't look it, don't act it. You're wearing tweed! And you're a writer-'

'What's wrong with writing?' He cut across softly, 'it's as creative and difficult as artistry. Don't judge the book by its synopsis.'

She smiled. 'And now you're using metaphors. I get the impression you showcase you're intelligence. And I thought it was 'don't judge a book by its cover'?'

'I have no one to showcase it to. My life is basically a pile of rejections and chances that never happen. And a cover is just a cover. You can't tell much from a cover of a book. It's mostly misleading. A synopsis is the small summary at the back with which you decide whether to open the book or not. It is more powerful than it seems to be.'

She raised her eyebrows in turn, her lips curling up into a lazy smile.

'You do like showing off, don't you?'

'I don't even know why I'm telling you all this. After all, it's a bit cliche.'

She leaned relaxedly against the leather seat, more comfortable and less concerned about leaving.

'How is it cliche?' She smirked. She was challenging him, and he gave a small chuckle in return.

'Well, meeting in a pub, me a writer, you an artist. Having a conversation that increasingly grows to personal details. Leaving together like dazed love-at-first-sight losers. The portrayal's in films are shocking.'

'Who said we would be leaving together?'

'I never implied it. But if you really want to carry on the cliche, I can get you a drink.'

A cool smile, and her frame leaned back over the table, elbows balanced against it, hand cupping her cheek.

'Rum and coke. Four parts.'

'Jesus. You like your stuff strong.'

'You could say I have a reputation for it.' She replied. He called over a server, giving their order.

'So, you said you came on a date for fun. Hadn't you been on a date before?'

'Well, I wouldn't call the typical rendezvous I usually share be considered 'dates'.'

John cocked his head to the side, gathering enough information to guess she was fairly young. Exactly the kind of age to be the outrageous, parting type.

'How old are you?'

'Crossing the boundaries now, aren't we?'

'Not particularly. I already know your name and occupation.'

'Well, if you really wanna know...29.'

'Huh.'

'What?'

'Older than I expected.'

'I don't view age as anything special. If anything, it gets you down each year you grow older. I measure someone's age by their personality. It's better to keep track of.'

'Oh? And how old am I then?'

'Well, so far you're ranking around a 55. But that's probably me being generous. After all, I don't know what you're capable of.'

He leaned back casually, raising his eyebrows again, a gesture he was doing more often as she talked.

'Capable of?'

At that point their drinks came, and he never got an answer. She swigged her staggering rum (if anything) and weak coke and trained her brown eyes to his, which he noticed only now sparkled in the dim, overhead lights.

'How old are you then? Tell me.'

He deliberated for a while, adding effect. For him, a conversation was not necessarily about the subject or the talking; sometimes it was just the silent actions and pauses in between. He slowly and rhythmically began drumming his hand against the table.

'30.' He said, his eyes meeting hers as he said it.

'Not too old then.'

'No, but I often feel like it.'

He raked his hand messily through his hair, sighing.

'Why? You don't get out much, do you?'

'Not really, I guess. More of a recluse. But I do enjoy being around people, entertaining them, making them laugh.'

'Are you writing a book at the moment, then?' She asked abruptly. Her change of topic reminded him why he was there in the first place.

'Yep. Well, I've finished it. But...'

'But?'

'Not getting anywhere with it. I'll have to look for a proper job.'

'I have friends who could do with more people. Although...' She fleetingly looked him up and down, 'you're still definitely not the type.' She laughed.

'Why not?' He asked interestingly.

'Because in all my life I've never met someone over the age of 25 who is so innocent and has such a baby face.'

'Well, that's going a bit far. I don't have a baby face at all.'

'You do a bit. Your eyebrows are practically nonexistent. Every time you raise them it's a case of 'is he raising them, or is he just confused'?'

'You're being very friendly tonight.' He said sarcastically.

'You should see me on others.' She joked.

'Should I?'

A pause, in which she took another sip from her glass. He too cursed himself quietly at the stupid move he'd made by pouring the scotch down his throat, burning it. Their conversation had been growing to an increasing rate with retorts and retaliations like wildfire. But now, as she watched him and set the glass down, she answered slowly.

'If you wanted to. You'd be intimidated, though. I don't think you'd want to see me at all.'

'When someone hints at a subject, but puts it off, it only makes the listener more interested. You keep going on about me being 'ordinary' and non-experimental. I'd gather you were one of those outrageous people that party every night. If that's the case, then I'm not intimidated.'

'Look, John-'

'Doctor.'

'Sorry, Doctor. Why do you call yourself that?'

'Because I don't like my name. Go on with what you were saying.'

'Now look whose hiding information.'

'I'm not hiding anything. We have only just met after all.'

Her eyes twinkled triumphantly. 'Exactly.'

He smiled widely, impressed. She was very intelligent, very chatty. Open about most things, secretive about others.

'Are you really not one of those boring, scared people that can't have fun?'

'I promise that I'm not a boring, scared person who can't have fun.' He recited.

'Hm...you're a bit of a laugh, I guess. You've made me smile. Alright then, let's go, Doctor. If you want to.'

'Go where?'

'My place.'

At this his eyebrows must have fallen off.

'Don't look so alarmed! I don't actually mean my place. Plus, you're not my type.'

'It seems I'm not anybody's type going by your analogy of me tonight.'

She chuckled, sliding out of her seat elegantly.

'Come on, then. What are you waiting for?'

His brain whirred inside his head. He knew exactly where he was headed. Everything he had gathered about Clara over the hour they'd been sitting there all pointed to the same conclusion. He was secretly, a little intimidated, but of course he wouldn't admit that to her. All his life he'd been an 'example kid', one that never got into trouble and spent his adolescent years writing short stories and playing the piano, unlike everyone else. He knew what people did in their spare time but had never stepped one foot into the opportunity, up until now. Clara really was right, he was extremely 'innocent'. But something about her interested him so much he let her manage the path in which he would cross tonight. Oh, he was in for a wild ride.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

He followed her out the pub, not looking back. She lead him down the dark street, and his decision to go with her was one he knew he wouldn't regret as she smiled up at him in the moonlight that caught her hair and lit up her skin.

'Where exactly are we going?'

'Up the street, away from the crowds. Heading for the bright lights and the din of locals.'

'Are you a local?'

She smiled to herself. 'You could say that.'

'What made you come down here, then?'

'I told you, my friend Rose. I think it was a bit of a prank. That or it was a dare leftover from that stupid shot game I lost. But I've won, anyway. Rose won't believe this.'

'Won what?'

She turned, staring at him for a fraction before looking straight ahead of her.

'You.'

John didn't know what to think. He was probably being used...for something. His mind struggled with each oncoming thought. The word 'won' suggested he was a plaything they had caught like a bargain. But yet he didn't protest; he didn't turn round and admit that everything was rather beyond him. It was still that sense of intrigue he felt when Clara talked, and also the fascination of what faced him tonight.

'How many people?'

'A lot. Why, does that bother you?'

'Uh, not really.'

'Good. You might find it gets a little...heated.'

She gave him a coy smile that he responded with an equally suggestible smirk.

'I would get rid of the bowtie though. And the tweed.'

'Definitely not. Bowties are cool.'

'Jesus, where you from, the 40's?'

'Am I going to spoil the mood with my dorkiness?'

'No,' she decided, still staring at him, 'I think it's cute.'

'Well, that's something I don't hear everyday.'

'That's something I would never say. Don't tell anyone I told you that.'

He snorted. 'Course not.'

She came to a stop in front of a wall. She grinned at him invitingly and he laughed.

'No...you won't be able to get up-'

But she had already jumped and swung her legs over the other side of the wall.

'What the hell?'

'Shortcut,' She said, doing her hair back up, 'come on.'

'Seriously? You don't expect me to get up there, do you?'

'You're taller, aren't you?'

He shook his head up at her admirably. 'You're crazy.'

'I know.'

He could swear he saw red in her eyes, like a devilish gleam. It made him smile widely. Taking off his tweed coat and rolling up his shirtsleeves, he heard a 'woooo!' from above and threw up his jacket to her. Reaching to grip the brick, he tried to swing up the same way she did, but not too amazingly ended up on the floor.

'Woops.'

She laughed, biting her lip. 'Woops?'

'Yeah. Don't make fun of 'woops'.'

She snorted, laughing harder.

He tried again, but slipped, cutting his arm. It was only a graze, but it did sting.

'Here, let me help you.' She leaned down to offer her hand, which he gallantly took. With the other hand pushing with as much strength he had, he finally made it up albeit oddly, lying on his stomach and shuffling forward so he could swing his legs round. He looked like he was swimming, and his shirt got ripped violently across his midriff, but apart from that, he was okay. Below him was a surface covered with mud, the roof of some sort of unused building that lead down a backstreet. Clara was trying not to laugh at the whole ordeal, a hand covering her mouth and her eyes creasing. He smiled warmly at her.

'You ripped your shirt.'

'Ah well. It was old anyways.'

She stared down at the exposed flesh, as if she was about to tell him to take it off. He didn't know how he would react to that to be honest. After all, first meeting and he didn't necessarily have much of the confidence to go round half naked. He wasn't shy but certainly wasn't that outgoing. But then again, wasn't he heading straight for that sort of crowd? He looked down to see her legs swinging freely below her. She handed back his jacket and he gladly swept it over his shoulders.

'At least you finally made it.'

'Yeah, finally. Never done anything much like it though.'

'Climbing over walls? What generation are you from? It was practically my childhood.'

'I can see that.'

She raised her eyebrow alarmingly, almost insulted.

'No, no, not like that! I'm sorry, I didn't mean-'

'No, it's fine.' She stood and smiled at him, taking his hand. He followed her to the edge of the other side.

'Just got up here, and now jumping down the other side! All the effort wasted.'

'I told you, shortcut. Unless you wanted to walk all the way round-'

'It would have been safer.'

She grinned. 'No one's safe.' And jumped down the side of the building like freaking spider woman. At this point he felt completely useless and untalented in every profession. Cautiously nearing the edge he sat on the brick wall first and after a few seconds impulsively jumped. He landed more or less safely, if you could call landing on the ground like he was proposing to her 'safe'. His knees ached as he didn't bend them as much as he should have, but apart from that, he was unscathed.

'And it's way more fun.' She told him from the floor, laughing once again at how ridiculous he looked on one knee in front of her.

'Now, stop proposing and let's go.'

He followed her through the street, and he faintly caught the sound of music blaring and people shouting.

'I hear the din.' He told her, strolling like he was taking a pleasant walk.

'Yep. A noise that infects you so much you find yourself coming back to it.'

'Hm. We'll see.'

As they approached the row of clubs, bars and pubs he found butterflies flying nervously around his stomach. For god's sake, John, he thought, you're a thirty year old man and you can't even take on the night scene. He took off his tweed jacket, hooking it round his little finger and throwing it over his back. He should have at least styled his hair differently too. After all, floppy hair over the side of one eye probably was a little too teenager-y. Clara noticed him slicking his hair, smiling amusedly.

'Keep it like that. It's interesting. And suits you.'

'No one's said that to me before.'

'Don't expect to hear it again.' She retorted, staggering briskly ahead to greet a person just outside the club. He swallowed. Here goes nothing. John stumbled slowly up to the two of them, standing beside Clara. She was talking to a blonde haired woman around the same age, if a little younger, with even longer lashes and defined lips. He grinned. All in one night he had encountered two very attractive woman, which was two more than usual. He was excited to meet more of them.

'Oh, met this one in the pub. The name's Doctor. Not a professional one, though,' She laughed, 'he's a writer.'

She looked him up and down, smiling suggestively. 'Doctor, eh? Sexy. I'm Rose.'

He smiled politely back, a glint in his eyes. 'Good to meet you, Rose.'

Together the three of them walked into the heaving club, the music at a voluminous level and instantly pounding through their heads. Clara nudged him, quietly whispering into his ear.

'By the way, if you meet anyone, you might want to clarify that 'Doctor' is an innocent name.'

'Why?'

'People will think you're a stripper or something if you call yourself that.' She smirked.

'What?'

She strode away from him, giving him an encouraging smile before heading straight to the bar. Right.

Now he was here and in the middle of a thriving club, of all places, the person he had befriended had gone off and he was left alone rather awkwardly. Still, he was always up to mingling. Anyway, it was clear from the way she walked ahead that she didn't want him to follow her around all night. He expected he'd see her soon though. John paved his way through the crowds, the blinding blue and purple lights blurring his vision just a bit. He hadn't really involved himself with this environment before, but for him it was exciting, like finding new cultural food. He was in the midst of a huge dance floor spanning the length of the club, the back holding poles, to which he swallowed. He'd probably steer clear of them for now. To the right was the long bar, and the opposite side were some booths lined along the wall. His hands rubbed together nervously, inspecting each passing face with a customary smile. He managed to chat to someone for a legendary record of ten seconds, ever moving on to the next person. By the end of the hour, he had actually engaged in a conversation with a pretty brunette that looked a little like Clara. Surprisingly, he didn't act as awkward as he thought he would. He had made her laugh at least twice, which was good, and with every minute they drew closer. Her name was something like Emily or Emma, but the music was too loud he hadn't heard her properly. She wore a tight fitting pink dress and held a champagne flute, while he stood recollectively against the wall.

'Do you come here often?' He asked her.

'Sometimes. Most Friday's and Saturday's. What about you?' She asked, sipping her drink.

'First time here,' he said matter-of-factly, cursing himself for telling her the embarrassing truth as she almost choked on her champagne.

'Brave,' she said, giving him that sweeping look he had been given quite a few times tonight, 'you're certainly not the sort we get round here.'

'I've been told that many times this evening.'

'I'm not surprised. Look at the bowtie.'

She reached out to poke it, giggling. At the mention of his bowtie he thought of Clara, who had made comment about it earlier. He scanned the crowds, but couldn't see her there amongst the throng of bodies. Too short, he remembered, and a smile appeared on his face.

'You've been to a club before, though?'

'Yeah. Well, once when I was nineteen.'

She almost spluttered again.

'Christ, you need to get out more.'

'Perhaps I should.' He said, giving her 'the look'. He liked flirting, but was shamefully awful at it. Emma/Emily seemed to catch on and laughed.

'Has anyone ever told you-'

'Yeah,' he chuckled, 'quite a lot.'

At that moment, Clara sauntered up to him.

'Doctor,' she smiled, 'there you are. Come on,' she gestured, pulling him by the arm to the bar.

'You alright, Clara?'

'Yeah.' She said, leaning against the counter.

'I was just speaking to, uhm...uh-'

'Janine.'

'What?'

'You were talking to Janine.'

'Oh.' He rubbed his head. Where the hell had he gotten Emily and Emma from?

'What do you want?' She asked him.

'Oh, I don't have anymore money.'

'It's fine.' She said, taking out a small wad of notes from the inside of her bra. His eyebrow lifted.

'So, you could have paid for your drink back in the pub.'

'You were the one who asked.'

'Ah, fair enough.' He grinned.

'Right,' she said, turning to the bartender, 'Four shots of tequila.'

As soon as she received them she turned to him mischievously, pushing two toward him.

'Come on then, let's see how good you are Chin Boy.'

'Chin Boy?!'

'Yeah,' she replied, her now recognisable Blackpool accent more blatant, 'have you seen the size of it? Now, drink up.'

He did as he was told and swallowed the burning liquid in as quick succession as he could. Clara was already finished by the time he had moved onto his second one. She laughed as he downed it, swallowing massively.

'You have a lot to learn.'

'Do I, really?'

'Yeah. But there's always plenty of time for that.' She winked.

John held a warm and fuzzy feeling in his stomach, a feeling of being accepted and liked and at home. He failed to see how this night could get any better.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

'You make me feel 21 again.'

'Well, now you're definitely scoring low on the age metre.'

'Hm, what am I now?'

'45. Congratulations. You're now 10 years younger.'

'Ah, brilliant.'

Clara took the beers she had gotten from the counter, cocking her head to the side.

'Let's go.'

He followed her through the chaotic dance floor, toward a booth in the far corner right at the back. A few people were sitting there, of which he recognised Rose and Janine. He slid down the leather seat until he was dead centre and he smiled almost nervously to the two girls sitting beside him. Clara sat opposite, sliding a beer toward him. He took it gratefully.

'Where's ours?' The only other man, a muscular, young bald guy asked Clara. He resembled that of Apollo Creed from Rocky, minus the hair. He decided not to say this aloud as the comment would gain him extra humiliation for being such a nerd.

'I told you, I'm only getting enough for me and him.'

Apollo guy turned toward him, frowning slightly but observing him. Was he ever going to get enough of those stares? Finally, he actually spoke.

'Who are you?'

'The Doctor. Just call me the Doctor.'

'Alright, Doctor. Where'd you come from?'

John was just about to reply when Clara intercepted. 'Met him in a pub. He's nice, and no trouble. A bit...amateur.'

'Ah, no worries, we can train him up.'

He didn't quite know how interest into a particular thing had now gotten him becoming a participant of said thing, but he guessed that was just the way it worked. If he didn't like coming out here he would explain and they would (or have to) understand that it wasn't his lifestyle. It wasn't even close. And yet he liked it so far. Apollo's twin brother held out his fist in greeting, and he respectively bumped it. That was the limit for John. He knew nothing else, except maybe the different brands of alcohol. Even then, he bet his knowledge was tiny compared to these people.

'Cool. So, we got a player?'

Clara almost choked on her drink.

'Hm?' He asked.

'You up for the game, Doctor? You know, spin the bottle and all that shit.'

'Yeah, yeah...all that...shit.'

Clara almost looked embarrassed for him, but gave him a smile as she drunk her beer. What had he just gotten himself into? Even he knew what 'spin the bottle' was and what the outcomes could be.

One of the girls beside him looked down at his shirt, and noticed the hole in it.

'Did you know your shirt was ripped?' She asked.

'Uh, yes.'

'What are you going to do about it?'

'I'm sorry?'

'Well, you can't go around wearing that. And we don't have any spare shirts.'

He looked from girl to girl beside him, and decided that for once, he wouldn't be playing as the loser. Whipping off his shirt he grinned shyly but underneath there was a burst of confidence as everyone observed his thin yet toned chest. Even Clara, to his weird and unfathomable delight was looking in that direction. In fact, just being around everyone and the atmosphere of the club increased his self esteem tenfold, which is why he would never, ever usually take off his shirt at a table and definitely not in front of strangers. But hey, the alcohol was settling well in his stomach and he was feeling brilliant, for once. Much better improvement from the let down, rejected guy who sat down in a lonely pub four hours ago.

'Right then. Come on, Clara.' Apollo guy said, making a motioning gesture to the bottle in her hands. Downing the rest swiftly she laid it atop the table. John hoped it wouldn't come to him. He had already crossed his boundaries tonight.

Rose spun it round, the bottle landing toward Clara. She sighed heavily, and he grinned.

'I'll make this one,' Apollo guy said, leaning toward her, 'you have to blow all your cash and get us drinks.'

'All of it?' She sighed again.

He nodded, leaning back.

'Ugh. You're gonna pay for this, Mike, I swear,' She threatened, sliding out of her seat and standing before him, 'you asshole.'

As she turned to walk in the direction of the bar Mike laughed. 'That's my girl.'

John was surprised at his comment. For some reason he hadn't imagined Clara would be with a man like him.

'Oh, right,' he told himself, 'you don't know anything about her.' And of course he didn't. He had to remind himself he had only just met her tonight, as well as all these people too. Clara soon returned with the drinks, clutching a pile all bundled up in her arms. She gave out the bottles, passing each one to everybody until he was the only one with one and a half.

'Oh, it's okay, I've already had one, you can give-'

'It's fine, Doctor. Come on, drink up.' She nodded toward the half-drunk bottle. He swigged it, remembering that before he came here he at least had a few whiskeys and a scotch. His guess for tonight was that he would indeed expire the boundary and get very, very drunk. Maybe even the most drunk he'd ever been before. The thought put a lazy smile on his face and he felt just a little too lightheaded. He wasn't cold either, despite having no shirt and his sense of where he was and what he was doing was becoming rather lost. And he enjoyed it immensely.

'Right.' Clara said, spinning the bottle. It pointed to Janine.

Mike laughed. 'Janine, get up and-'

'Hey,' Clara said, 'you've already had a go.'

'Aw, let me do this. Plus I do the best ones.'

'Fine. But if that bottle comes to you I'm making it and you better be prepared.'

He chuckled. 'Always am.'

He turned back to Janine, sniggering.

'Janine,' he laughed, 'you gotta get up and lick his chest.'

Mike folded up in increasing laughter. John was rather alarmed, as all he heard was 'lick his chest.' Did people really do dares like that?

'Oh, god,' Janine said, making her way over to him, 'I wish I'd never participated in this game. I'm sorry, Doctor, for what I'm about to do.'

He replied with a weak 'it's okay' and then her tongue swept over him and he squirmed slightly at the touch. It was...weird. But for now, he didn't mind. He was drunk.

'I've tasted worse.' She commented back to her seat. John raised both his eyebrows. Was that a compliment?

The bottle spun round and round to two other players, both of which their dares were quite funny. He felt more relaxed than he ever had been before. So far, he'd made it out alive (except for the chest-licking) and the bottle hadn't turned to him. Next it was Mike, who took one look at Clara and said 'dammit.'

'Yeah,' he thought, 'she does have that impact.'

'You, Mike, are going to go up there,' she said pointing at the poles, 'and show us your best pole dancing moves.'

'Oh, shit.' He said, banging his head on the table while everyone around him laughed wildly.

Getting up, he walked toward them and took hold of a pole. Gradually he climbed up it and swung down, but it was the only move he could do. By this time the whole club had noticed a man on the poles and was watching him, laughing hilariously. After two more swings up and down the pole he came back, and everyone cheered. Mike couldn't hide a grin but told Clara that he would never do that again. She smiled slyly and Rose spun the bottle. And for all the bad karma in the world, it spun to a stop at Clara.

'Oh, fucking hell!' She exclaimed, her head in her hands. Mike laughed mischievously. John grinned and took a swig from his bottle, while the whole table had gone silent. Clara had her eyebrows raised. John had completely missed what Mike had said. She stood up, walked toward him and with impending shock, she kissed him, her legs wrapping round his waist. He didn't react immediately but then was kissing her back at the same pace. It was sloppy and uncoordinated but exhilarating. Her tongue brushed over his and his lips parted hungrily, his hands unmoving in shock, almost grasping the leather seats but moving them classily just above her arse. Thank god they hadn't flailed. He was finding it hard not to press into her as he could feel her body against him like a force, pushing her toward him uncontrollably. Clara's kissing was extremely sexy. It felt like hours before she let him go and John stared into her warm, brown eyes. It was only then he realised everyone around the table was watching them, their eyes wide.

'I'm sorry.' She whispered.

'Don't be.' He breathed as she casually slid off him and sat back down in her seat. It was for a few seconds afterwards that the table still remained silent and Mike finally spoke.

'Jesus, that was literally five minutes long.' He said.

Had it really been that long?

Clara just shrugged. 'He was going for it too.'

Every stare turned toward him, and he smiled nervously. It wasn't long before they resumed the game but the taste of her lips still lingered with him. He had gotten some kisses in his lifetime, some short, some long, even a few just as enthusiastic as that, but none of them compared to the one he had just shared. If someone had sat down with him and told him that the girl who entered the pub that night was going to end up kissing the living hell out of him, he would have laughed morbidly and gone home to continue his drinking. It would have seemed way too good to be true. And it was. She had fully entwined herself round him, kissed almost every part of his mouth and he had returned the favour with hers. He still couldn't wave away that feeling and both their eyes met briefly, for just a second, when everyone else was occupied with someone else's dare. He knew it didn't mean anything, it was a dare after all, but something about her, and about their kiss, had gotten him so shaken up he hardly participated by the end of the game. Luckily, he wasn't picked, or chosen for someone else's dare again.

'We all coming out, then?' Mike asked, standing up. Clara was the first to react.

'Yeah, I could use one.' She said. Everyone else departed the booth and John followed them out of the club to stand outside in the cool night air. It wasn't until he felt the soft breeze he realised he had been just a little too stuffy in there, and it was nice on his bare skin. He stood next to Clara, who lit up a cigarette and lazily took a drag. He admired the way she flicked the ash and how she almost puckered her lips to inhale. She didn't say anything about what had happened back in the club and together they stood in a comfortable silence.

She offered one to him, and he laughed.

'I'm very drunk, but I'm not very, very drunk that I'd except a fag.'

She smiled with the cigarette still between her lips, and something about that expression made him smile too.

'Do you wanna ride back?' She asked, throwing the reduced and finished cigarette down.

'Uh, on what?'

'Motorbike.' She explained, walking toward a few shiny black Harley's that gleamed in the moonlight. Everyone else was climbing onto them, revving up. John admitted to himself he had always wanted to ride a motorbike, but never had the courage too. Plus, they had all had a lot of alcohol, and in Clara's case too much of it. Extra the fag and a just as drunk passenger and it was recipe for disaster. He wouldn't be surprised if he ended up at hospital nearly dead from an accident. But, he had never took these kind of risks before, and to him they were risks worth taking. After all, how many times would he get to ride a motorbike with an attractive woman with his shirt off? He very well knew the odds. He looked around him for a moment and realised for the first time tonight she had lead him to a part of town he didn't recognise or know; all the more reason. And she could easily drive him to his door if he told her the address. He bet he would have regretted it if he never had took the chance.

He grinned, the impulsive decision in his brain becoming an answer.

'Sure.'

He climbed aboard the beautiful vehicle, wrapping arms around Clara's waist as he shuffled up as close as he could to her. With a flick of her wrist on the handlebars she revved up the engine, and it occurred to him they weren't even wearing helmets. As the motorbike roared to life, a new thought popped into his head.

'Can you ride a motorbike?' He asked her. He could hear the grin in her voice as she replied.

'Nope.'

And with that, they were off.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

He felt like he was on the rockiest road trip out there. Her steering was surprisingly good but her braking nearly threw them both over the edge. Whenever it happened he would gasp sharply while she laughed as he was launched into her at an alarming speed. His skin was no longer cool, but clammy, yet Clara didn't seem to mind as he wrapped his arms even tighter round her. He felt the alcohol rising up from his stomach but he physically couldn't be bothered to throw up. He was having too much fun.

When she had told him she couldn't drive the bike, his eyes widened the furthest they could go and his heart beat like the bass of a drum. But his instincts told him to relax, which was probably the influence of all the drink he had consumed. He wouldn't have been so chilled about it had he have been sober. She had taken off, roaring into the night, the moon beating down on him and illuminating her hair.

'Where are we going?' He asked her.

'Wherever you want.'

'Uh,' he said nervously, feeling his stomach crawl like it was infested with insects, 'no offence, but I think I'd like to go home now.'

'No problem.' She said, once again almost hurtling down the road and causing his head to loll back. He retched violently, coughing, his knees pinning her tight.

'Oh, god,' he said, 'please don't get us killed.'

'It's fine, I know what I'm doing.'

'You said you hadn't ridden before!'

'Well I kinda have, you know, Mario Kart.'

'Mario Kart is nothing like driving a real motorbike!'

'Well, I'm not doing bad!'

'I guess not. You've also had a ton of alcohol and a cigarette, so in perspective yeah, you're doing great. For said people who have never ridden a motorbike before much less with a driver with an actual license I think it's fair to say that I won't make it through the night.'

'Keep your spirits up, why don't you,' she replied dryly, 'we haven't had an accident yet.'

'Because it's four in the morning and fortunately for us, there are hardly any vehicles on the road.'

'Aw, come on, enjoy the thrill! You're becoming grumpy now.'

'You enjoy this too much.'

'Aren't you enjoying it?'

He laughed. 'I never said I didn't! Of course I am, but maybe you should go a bit slower.'

'Alright, lightweight.'

She slowed down, which was a relief, but the tingling in his stomach hadn't subsided. Although it was fair to say he had never felt so alive. He told her the address of his apartment and she drove him the way until he recognised his part of town and passed the very pub they had met. The wind whistled and ruffled his hair and he became less worried as he looked up at the sky to stare at the shining dots that were the fires of stars, beholding so much beauty.

'Oh, shit, I just realised. There's a hill coming.'

'Yess!'

'No, that's bad, that's very very-'

But at that moment it hit, and they came hurtling down the road so fast it almost took his breath away.

'Woooooooo!' Clara cried, the motorbike jogging and jerking violently as it continued downhill.

'Aaaagggghhh!' He yelled, much more concerned for the rocking vehicle and their own lives than the excitable thrill. He was terrified they would crash. And at such a speed it was inevitable, however at the last minute Clara controlled the handlebars, leaning back onto him and laughing wildly with joy as he looked on in horror. Yet they sped back to level ground and he could feel his heart hammering against his chest. He had no doubt Clara could feel it too. His breathing became ragged, and Clara smiled at him, her dark eyes lighting up.

'That...that was...absolutely terrifying,' he said, trying to catch his breath back, 'but incredible.'

Clara did another whoop of joy at his comment and miraculously, he found himself laughing.

'See what you've done to me?' He asked her incredulously, 'how influenced I am now because of you? A few hours ago I was a failure sitting down in a lonely old pub and now I've literally took the life of another man, become more adventurous than I ever thought I would, and all because of you.'

'Is that a good thing?'

He deliberated a moment. 'Yeah. Yeah, it is.'

Soon enough she parked (rather unsteadily) in front of his apartment and he shakily staggered off.

'I don't want to be sick in front of you,' he explained, when she told him to exhale a long breath, 'it will probably become my karma for the night and give me one hell of a hangover tomorrow but I just want to say that I've had a lot of fun tonight, and I needed it. Thank you for that.'

She climbed off the motorcycle and walked up to him. Her eye-level came to rest at his collarbones, and for a moment he shifted uncomfortably at the closeness between them, Clara only an inch away from his damp, bare skin. She smiled up at him politely.

'I'm glad you did. And if you ever want to do it again, we'll be here. I consider you a friend now, as it happens. And trust me, becoming my friend is a hard and almost impossible feat so I would be proud if I were you.'

He laughed, looking nervously down at his feet until he raised his eyes to look at her.

'I'll think about it. I'm not sure about any more motorbike rides, but I'm sure I'll be up to another night with you. At some point. I think I might need a while to recover after this one.'

She chuckled at that, flipping her hair in a highly alluring way.

'But I'm not...you know, I'm not going to involve myself so heavily, like...like you do. I'm afraid that is rather beyond me.'

'Yeah, I guess it is.'

'It's been a pleasure, Clara Oswald.' He said, giving her another smile.

'Ugh, don't you dare go 18th century on me. I told you I have certain limits, and that's going far beyond them. A simple 'see you later' is fine.'

He grinned. 'You're too cool for that sort of language.'

She laughed. 'Yeah.'

The next thing he knew, she had leant up and placed a kiss on his cheek.

'I don't usually do that either, but we'll keep that between you and me.'

'Of course.' He replied, smiling smugly.

'I'll see ya, Doctor.' She said, walking back to the bike and climbing over it.

'Drive as safe as you possibly can.'

'I'll try to.'

She revved the engine, and it was only then he had to ask one last thing.

'Clara,' he called, 'where do I rank now?'

She flicked the handlebars, grinning.

'35.'

And then she sped off, and he stood there for a moment, just smiling. He sincerely hoped nothing happened to her on the journey back, and he realised Clara was most definitely an adrenaline junkie. I mean, who would do all of that while drunk and with no license?

'Well, I just did,' he said aloud, 'because of Clara Oswald.'

He walked inside his apartment, opening the bathroom door so he had better access to the toilet which he knew he would need the next morning. But for now, he was happy and content and completely spent out. He hadn't realised just how tired he was, and with zombie-like elegance, he took off his jeans and collapsed into bed, falling asleep as soon as he hit the pillow.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

John's eyes opened groggily, his arms and legs spread wide on the bed like a starfish. He groaned as the pain in his head throbbed and marred his brain like it was splitting it apart. He was boiling hot yet he only wore his pants and his hair felt clammy in his warm hands. His mind couldn't keep up with what was going on, or even time, his synapses disconnected and broken like the way he felt. He could hardly move as the heat radiated off his body and it only took a moment to feel the remains of last night's drinks crawling up his throat...he bolted, despite being as stiff as a statue and ran into his bathroom where he entered his contents into the toilet bowl. He retched and coughed horrendously, not being able to breathe as more came up and he felt dizzy. In fact, he thought he might even black out as he slumped against the edge of the metal and slid to the floor. He had never felt so hungover in his life, and definitely not to this kind of scale. He couldn't quite remember how many drinks he had partook that night but it was enough to send him into a meltdown. His head was banging on the inside of his skull and his limbs felt heavy and weak. The texture of his hot and sweaty skin against the cold hard floor was all the more reason to throw up again. It continued for what seemed like an eternity as he clutched his stomach painfully and stayed there over the toilet for at least an hour. He had known he would take it bad the next morning but he never envisioned something so unimaginable. He had no idea how Clara must be feeling right now. Finally, it stopped, and he stood up to face himself in the mirror and at first he didn't recognise himself. He was so pale he could have blended in magnificently to the whitewashed walls and so tired he had bags under his eyes that looked like face paint gone wrong. He stared at the skeleton in the mirror, so weak and ill it unnerved him. He slowly padded to his small kitchen where he retrieved himself a glass and gladly drunk water that cooled his lips and eradicated the grotesque tingling of bile in the back of his throat. He wandered aimlessly like a ghost toward his bedroom and collapsed once more into his bed. He would give anything to drift off into a painless sleep but his body refused him to do so. He was spaced out and half-awake, his mind trying to gather up the events of last night into a coherent order. He had met Clara in a pub, had entered the club, got himself into a game of spin the bottle and ended up on a motorbike with a driver of no license. What had he been thinking? Of course he shouldn't have gotten on that stupid bike, he was lucky he had come away unscathed! He could have easily gotten a taxi or phoned someone to pick him up, but no, one sight of the girl on a Harley and he was jumping aboard like he didn't have a future. He still couldn't fully comprehend how he had managed to keep his drink in until now but he was glad he hadn't been a quivering mess in front of Clara or her friends.

And he was supposed to be looking for a job today, after realising his writing career had gone kaput from the day it started. Now, he couldn't even do that since his state was hardly going to get him anywhere. Another day spent lounging around doing nothing, which would normally constitute a huge grin and a marathon of movies to watch with ice cream. But today it was however many hours of torturous agony and regrets filled with 'why oh why did I take that tequila?'

Interestingly, it was only the drinks he really regretted, and while the motorcycle had been a puerile and foolish thing to do he had enjoyed it massively, as well as his conversation with Clara in the pub. The whole night in fact had been brilliant from start to finish and as his thoughts deepened to the joy he had experienced his pain lessened too. He managed to get up, glancing at his phone that told him it was half 12. He picked up the discarded pair of jeans from the floor, folding them carefully but not before he noticed something in the back pocket. A slip of paper with a neatly written phone number on it that could only have been Clara's. She had snuck it into his pocket when she had kissed him on the cheek and his thoughts came to an abrupt stand still as he realised her hand had brushed his arse as she had slipped the paper into his back pocket. For the first time that morning he grinned, putting the piece of paper on his bedside table. And then a memory came back to him, his head swimming with the imprint of her lips lining his and the way she had caressed his tongue with hers. He sat still for a moment, the shock returning to him like it did when it had happened, so overwhelmed but nonetheless pleased as he had kissed back with as much fervour he could hardly contemplate. Yes, he kept telling himself, it was a dare. A result of a stupid bottle being spun and yet for reasons he couldn't explain he was very glad it had happened. Was it because he was attracted to Clara? Or just because he hadn't got that kind of attention from a girl for a long time? He had admitted to himself it had felt like something more, possibly a spark or connection.

'Ugh,' he groaned again, making his way to the kitchen, 'I'm not even going to think about it.' He told himself.

It would only lead to extreme variations and wishful thinking on his part.

His mouth watered as he turned over the sizzling bacon spitting away in the frying pan, his appetite finally pulling through. He supposed the smell of it would make him sick again but he was far too invested to care.

It was two o'clock before he had retired once again to his enticingly awaiting bed and with nothing to do he decided once again, to do something rash. Putting the number into his phone he laid restfully against his pillows and rang the number without another senseless thought. He couldn't be bothered to be considerate today. And yet she didn't pick up until the very last ring and his disappointment had been felt almost ashamedly up until that moment. He had waited with blind hope that she would answer, like he depended on it. He banished those feelings and stuck them imprisoned in a drawer, but had no later resurfaced again as she answered into the phone.

'Hello?'

He couldn't reply, his mouth was dry and he didn't even know what to say. Oh, that was simple. He should say hello back. Really, John, you're a bloody writer for god's sakes.

'Uh, hi.'

'Whose this?'

His heart dropped to his stomach and his expression slackened. He thought about hanging up on the spot but he wasn't rude enough to do it.

'John. You know, from last night.'

'Oh.'

'Yeah.'

'...are you okay?'

'No, I feel terrible.'

There was something of a laugh that slightly raised his spirits.

'You amateur.'

'What, you don't feel the same way?'

'Course not.'

'How-'

'Practice, John. Literally been living the life, it doesn't affect me.'

'Right.'

'Look, John, sorry but I gotta go-'

'Oh, no worries. Thought I might just, you know, check up on you.'

'Well, thank you.'

She hung up on him and it didn't settle his confidence. She hadn't even really been pleased to hear from him, which questioned why she had planted her number on him in the first place. It was difficult to pull out any information from that ten second phone call but one thing he was sure of. She wasn't interested in him anymore. Had she really ever been though? He kept telling himself he had only met her that night but it felt like he had known her far longer. It was too confusing for his taste. He preferred keeping everything simple, which rather contradicted his life as a writer. He snorted. That's why he wasn't any good. The thought returned to him of the night before and his despair while drinking his whiskey. Something attracted that again to him, the idea appealing to him with no question of why. He couldn't go out again to get drunk, he knew his body wasn't likely to take it. And he'd had enough of moping around feeling sorry for himself all alone in that pub. He was just feeling down once again because he was an unsuccessful nobody that wouldn't go anywhere in life. At that moment his phone rang, and his heart skipped when he recognised it as Clara's number. Answering, he smiled when he heard her voice. It was much lighter than before, more pleased to hear from him. It made him smile like an idiot.

'John.'

'Clara.'

'I had a thing, that's why I hung up early.'

He didn't expect any kind of apology from her. It was Clara Oswald he was talking to.

'It's okay. Do you have any pain meds because my heads still banging like a bloody drum.'

'I think so. Dunno though, haven't used them in a while.'

'I'm surprised you're taking the hangover well.'

'I haven't got a hangover, John, I feel fine.'

'That's crazy. You must feel at least something, with all the drinks you had and stuff.'

'Nope, all fine. I told you, you are completely new to the world of incessant hangovers. I just don't get them anymore.'

'Don't treat me like a beginner,' he muttered, 'I do know what alcohol does.'

'Good. So,' she continued cheerily, 'do you need those pain meds now?'

'Yeah, probably.'

'Want to come over, then?'

'Round yours?'

'Duh.'

His mind raced, his heart hammered. Was she really inviting him over?

'Uh, yeah, sure.'

'I'll pick you up-'

'No! Sorry, no, I think I'll walk. Whether drunk or sober, I ain't getting on that bike again.'

'Fine.'

She told him the address, and he quickly dressed himself in his shirt and suspenders. Throwing his coat over himself he walked out of his apartment to hers. It took him an hour or so to get there, but once he did he was greeted with a smile.

'Come in, it's unlocked.' She had called, and he stepped into her apartment that looked a little like his, but much more decorated. There were posters on the wall and the ceiling was graffitied, making it look more like a studio. Clara's back was turned to him, painting on a massive canvas that filled half a wall. She turned to smile at him as he drew closer.

She had been right; her artwork was very extreme and unique to others, and some people would very well look down on it. It depicted a huge human heart, but black, and all sorts of weapons piercing it. Spray painted blood ran out of the wounds and spiralled down to the edge. It was a horrifying piece of artwork, yet beautiful at the same time, almost bittersweet.

'That's good.' He commented, unable to take his eyes off it.

'Yeah, I'm not finished with it. It gets gorier, trust me. I told you no one likes this sort of art.'

'No, I do...it's interesting. Hard to look at, but once you do you can't tear away from it. It's visually appealing but for the brain it's disturbing. It works both ways.'

'Thank you, for that incredibly detailed analysis of my art.' She said sarcastically.

He turned, smiling as she carried paint posy filled with murky water to the sink. As she passed him, she smirked.

'You look terrible.'

'I feel it, too.'

'No doubt.'

'Do you have the pain meds?'

'Yeah. Here you go.' She chucked him a box of tablets. Swallowing one, he grimaced.

'I hate the taste of them.' He said, swallowing down his water.

'Yeah, they're not too good, are they.'

He followed her to her bedroom, which she didn't seem to mind. He noticed a pair of jeans that were too big for her to fit into, and his mind went into a state of questions.

'Whose are they?' He asked, pointing to the piece of clothing.

'Oh, they're someone's. Forgot to take them, I suppose.'

'Your boyfriends?'

She snorted. 'Christ, no. Just a man's.'

'Oh. I thought they might have been Mike's or-'

She spluttered, laughing at the very idea.

'Mike? You thought my boyfriend was Mike? Fucking hell, if I had him around I'd want to jump off a cliff. He's such a narcissistic asshole, he doesn't know when to stop showing off. He annoys me like hell.'

'Right.'

'What gave you the idea?'

'I don't know. You just seemed very friendly with him last night, and he called you his girl.'

She raised her eyebrows. 'I'll kill him. If I ended up with a hundred boyfriends, each one would get their head smacked into a table for saying it.'

'Fair enough.'

'You're not keen on men, then?' He asked, confused, still looking at the pair of trousers.

'I never said I wasn't keen. I just hate relationships and having boyfriends. That's why I just have one night stands.'

'Oh, so he's a one night stand?'

'Yeah, course. I've probably got loads of men's clothes hidden around my flat,' she laughed, 'what's the matter?' She said, on seeing his face. He didn't know why he suddenly felt jealous. She had stated very clearly last night that he was her 'friend.' Nothing more.

'Nothing. I was just...surprised.'

'What, surprised that I sleep with men every night?'

He raised his eyebrows, eyes widening.

'Every night?'

'Well, some. Most. I don't know, Doctor, I thought you would have figured that by now.'

He didn't respond, not wanting to pry further into her business than he already had. Now that he knew she did this sort of thing regularly he very well disregarded anything that made their kiss even remotely special. It had been nothing, like her one night stands. Spending the night, and then never seeing each other again. Although he was a tiny bit pleased she wanted to see him again.

'So, on the phone earlier, that was-'

'Yeah,' she looked uncomfortable, 'I'd prefer not to talk about it.'

'Sorry.'

'Don't be.'

'So,' she said, her eyes shining brighter and her cheery nature restored, 'are you doing anything this afternoon?'

He was taken aback by her question. Was she asking flippantly, or was she implying something?

'Uh, well, I was supposed to be going job hunting, but I can't really do that today. I don't have many plans. Maybe watch some TV in the evening, go to bed early, I don't know.'

'Hm. Sounds alright.'

'I guess so. Are you doing anything?'

'Much of the same, actually. I might start on my chalk piece, but something tells me I'm not gonna be bothered.'

He nodded, and for a moment they just stood there, facing each other.

'You're just waiting for an offer, aren't you?' She laughed.

'What? No, course not.'

'Don't try fooling me, it never works. I can just see you waiting for the question, wishing for company. Doctor, do you want to stay round here for the evening?'

'Really?'

'Don't act so surprised, you were the one anticipating it.'

He shook his head in defeat. 'Fine. Thank you.'

'Welcome. You can throw your coat anywhere, I don't care.'

He laid it carefully on the armrest of the sofa, and then remembered something.

'Actually, you might not want me here.'

'Why not?'

'I might be sick again.'

She laughed again, 'I do have a toilet, you know. It's fine, I've dealt with loads of people being sick round here. I keep throwing stupid parties, don't I.' She smiled.

'And you can sit down, if you want.' She added.

Taking a seat, he watched her sort things out, putting away her art equipment. He made conversation with her about it, asking which artists she liked and her influences and favourite paintings. All of them she replied to thoroughly, which made him smile.

Finally, she sat down next to him, and they talked a while about different things. She was very easy to talk to, about all sorts of things, and very understanding too. He got the impression she would be the top person to share secrets with, as she seemed very reliable and trustworthy. The sky had darkened considerably once it hit 4 o'clock and John was reminded that she had told him to stay for the 'evening' and not just the afternoon. It made him a tiny bit nervous, and while Clara was definitely his friend, he didn't want to go breaking any more boundaries tonight. After he had discovered she slept with men very easily it didn't put his mind to rest. He didn't want to be 'just another one night stand' and it would be too awkward if that was what happened. They would most likely not talk or see each other again after that, and that was something he decided he didn't want. He was really warming to Clara, and it was possible the same could be said likewise.

'So, do you want to watch something? You know, you said you liked watching movies a lot, I do too. We could go to the shop, get some things to eat?'

'Yeah, I'd like that. What movies have you got?'

They shuffled through her impressive pile of DVDs, and finally settled on one they both liked a lot. Grabbing his coat, he couldn't have thought of a better night, a movie, food, and some company. In fact, if that had been a date night, he would have been very impressed. Sometimes he appreciated the little things in life, and it seemed Clara did too. They walked to the shop, John instantly grabbing a bag of Doritos.

'My favourites.' He said. They collected a fair amount of food to eat and returned back to her apartment. John was conscious of the fact that Clara seemed to be getting closer and closer to him, although her eyes were trained to the TV. He didn't mind at all, however, and moved in closer too. Once the movie had ended and they couldn't eat anymore, they sat in the darkened room and talked again about different things. The sky was turning from deep blue to black, and Clara was sprawled out on the sofa, her legs dangling over the armrest and her head balanced on his knee, looking up at him.

'How come you don't have a license for your motorbike, then?'

'Its not exactly mine. Mike has a whole lot of them, and he let's us borrow them sometimes.'

'So, you lied, when you said you'd never ridden one before.'

'Of course I can ride one, I pretended not too.'

'Why?!'

'It was much more fun being risky.'

'Why do you like taking risks so much?'

'I get high on the adrenaline. I'll do anything like that, I love it. Want me to fall off a building? I'll do it. Want me to bungee jump over the side of a bridge? I'll do that too. Even if I didn't know how to ride a motorbike, I'd still ride it. So, either way, if I didn't or did, I would've done it anyway.'

'Do you have a death wish?'

She laughed. 'No.'

'Seems to me you do. You'd die just for a thrill.'

'Of course I would. I'm not afraid of death. You're dead longer than you live, so to me it's nothing to be scared of. I don't plan living a long life anyway. Going beyond 25 was rather a shock to me.'

'Because the human body has instincts to survive. Even if you wanted to die, it would try and find a way.'

'I guess so.'

'Do you always talk about depressing things?'

She laughed again. 'You know, I've never really done this with a man before. Sit here, just talking, watching a movie. Everyone's probably wondering where I am tonight. It's a Saturday after all.'

'Wait, hang on, you'd go drinking again tonight?'

'I told you, I go drinking most nights.'

'Why haven't you done it more often? Watching movies and stuff.'

'Doctor, no man would want to sit here with me and watch movies, except you. I usually just have sex with them.'

He raised eyebrows at the mention of sex. For some reason, it had always made him feel uncomfortable.

'Why do you do it so much?' He pressed further.

She made a calculating expression, like she was trying to give a practical answer.

'Cause I enjoy it.'

'Oh.'

'You're going red.'

'Am I?'

'Yeah,' she giggled, 'why does it bother you?'

'It doesn't, I just don't like talking about it openly like you do.'

'Why?'

'I don't know.'

'When was the first time you had it, then?'

'What?'

'I'm trying to get you to talk about it, because you're too awkward.'

'Why are we even having this conversation?'

She shrugged. He sighed.

'When I was 21.'

She laughed, and he looked down at her critically.

'What's wrong with that?'

'Nothing.'

'Okay, well, what age did you first have it?'

'15.'

'I wouldn't have expected any lesser of you.'

She smiled. 'No, I don't suppose you would.'

They stared at each other, Clara looking him straight in the eye. And then she leaned upwards and kissed him, arm wrapping round his neck. It was the same fire as last night, the same kind of lustful passion that John hardly knew what to do with. She moved so she was sitting on his lap, almost straddling him, and her tongue pushed past his teeth demandingly, her hands cupping his cheeks. For a moment they just sat there kissing, and the next John felt the space between them widen as her lips drew away from his. He was left empty as she pushed off him and sat beside him.

'I don't know why I did that.'

'I don't know why you stopped.'

She looked up at his face and shook her head.

'I don't want you to become a one night stand. You're not my type at all.'

Her comment hurt him a little. From the moment they met she had kept saying it to him, making him wonder why he was there beside her at all. He understood why she didn't want to sleep with him, for the same reason he didn't but he didn't know why she had just stopped herself, claiming he wasn't her type when she had been the one to kiss him first.

'I'm sorry. I'm actually sorry. Can you forget it happened, please?'

He nodded solemnly, and they continued with their conversation. She didn't lie back her head on his knee again which he had liked, and also steered clear of anything related to sex. Even though they were laughing well into the night the atmosphere was just a little tenser than before and when John grabbed his coat and bid his farewells, she didn't kiss him on the cheek again like she had last night. Instead, she'd given him a warm smile, which he had returned. And the long walk back to his apartment was spent thinking about their kiss, despite how much he didn't want to. He hardly slept that night, still turning over the events in his head, how she had just grabbed him and kissed him in such a way it nearly winded him. Everything was so much more confusing and muddled, but he had thoroughly enjoyed that night he had spent with her. She had given him immense comfort, and it had been exactly what he had needed.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

His younger self would not let go of his childish aspiration, so he searched up every publishing house he could find and sent multiple copies of his book to them. He couldn't bring himself to go job-hunting, not just yet. He still had a fair amount of money in his bank after his small collection of children's books were published. It seemed like no one thought his adult books were good enough, which sickened him. He guessed he'd have to go back to writing children's ones. It still didn't help the fact he needed more income. He couldn't focus on anything that morning, and it was only when he decided to call Clara he calmed down. Even just her voice soothed him, telling him not to get so stressed. She invited him out that night again, and he jumped on the opportunity as soon as she had suggested it. He figured he needed more fun in his life and Clara Oswald was the person to help him realise that. He knew his body couldn't take the staggering hangovers but he lived in the moment, and his mood increased tenfold once he had that to look forward to. He might cut down just a tiny bit on the drinks, though. And he wouldn't participate in any spin the bottle type games for the sake of his sanity.

As the evening drew closer he took a shower, and put his nicest shirt and bow tie on. He didn't know why or who he was supposed to be impressing but he wanted to look nice for once. He decided he'd also put on his suspenders, as Clara had taken a liking to them yesterday. He met with Clara at her apartment and he decided he trusted her enough to ride the motorbike, although he told her to slow down. He was greeted once again by Clara's friends, who mostly welcomed him with a smile. Even Mike clapped him awkwardly on the back.

'I'm kinda tired of the club,' he said, 'let's just all go to our place.'

'Where are we going now?' He asked, as everyone set off.

'Oh, just a place we...hang out, I guess. No other way to put it.'

'Is it one of those illegal underground places?'

She quirked her eyebrow, a smile playing at her lips.

'You're fast.'

There was loud discussion, shouting and hollering on the streets they walked, and while he knew he definitely didn't fit in with the crowd, he felt included and almost invincible. They finally reached an underpass, and an entrance down to an old, abandoned tube station, where people were already down there. Graffiti decorated the walls like wallpaper, and ramps made for skateboards had been made. Along a back wall was a crate of alcohol and the young adults already down there turned to greet them. Clara walked straight to the crate, tearing away the alcohol bottles and passing them out freely. She gave him one, and he took it gladly. It didn't take long before everyone was smoking, too, and not the normal kind. John looked suspiciously to the cigarette between Clara's fingers and then to her lazy smile.

'Are you honestly smoking weed?' He asked incredulously. She turned to him, grinning.

'I can honestly say that I am.'

'Why?'

'I like it.'

'Oh, right, yes, I forgot you love anything that kills you.' He replied, emphasising the word 'kill' bitterly.

'Yep.' She confirmed.

'A partygoer I got right, I never thought I'd see you smoking a joint.'

'Surprise.'

'What's so special about weed?'

'It makes you feel good. Like, stress relief.'

John thought about it. Stress did get everyone down, admittedly. He himself could hardly handle the life of a failure. He didn't want to go anywhere near a joint, however. He was too much of a 'good boy' for years that he couldn't bring himself to do something like that.

'I could get you a normal fag?' She asked.

'No, in fine. As much stress relief I'd like, I don't think I could do that.'

'You know people make out that cigarettes are disgusting? They're actually not at all like that. It relaxes you, makes you feel only slightly dizzy, but it's pleasurable, not like full on spinning around. Weed's just stronger.'

'I can see what you mean about the exaggeration.'

'Come on, drink up!' She grinned, tipping up his bottle so he nearly choked and it nearly spilled on his bow tie.

'Hey, not the bowtie!'

She laughed, taking his hands and swaying to music playing only in her ears.

'You're so crazy. Crazier than I thought.'

'Aren't we all?'

'Not as crazy as you, Clara Oswald.'

She smiled broadly at him.

'Best thing anyone's ever told me.'

The rest of the night was spent lounging around, until everyone persisted him.

'Just take a toke.'

He tried waving them off, but they wouldn't let it go. He glanced nervously at Clara. He was drunk, at the stage where people did stupid things, yet the night before he had told Clara that however drunk he got he'd never accept one. Yet it was the influence of the group that made him smile relaxedly, still made him feel special and invincible. It wasn't really peer pressure; he knew what he was doing. Sometimes his view on things changed in a matter of seconds, people always told him it was his hamartia. He was persuaded too easily. He took the cigarette between his fingers, watching the ash at the end of it curl. Placing it in his lips and with no reason at all he inhaled, his mind finally catching up on him.

'What the fuck are you doing?' He screamed at himself, and then he exhaled, the smoke breezing out. It left a weird, harsh but pleasurable roughness at the back of his throat and for a second he was disoriented lightly. He coughed only a little, but all in all he wasn't too displeased by the experience. One person clapped him one he back, Clara shuffled up next to him.

'I told you, it's not so bad. That was just a normal cigarette.'

'Good, because you are not getting me to try weed.'

She patted him on the back too, leaning her head against his shoulder. It hadn't been too bad, and it didn't make him feel sick, like people had always advised him it would. It actually made him feel much happier. The lights almost blurred in his vision and all he could feel was her head balanced against him. Taking a swig from his drink he heard a sudden 'whoa!' And he realised he was almost lying on the ground, Clara's head now in his lap. He looked down at her apologetically.

'I think one drag was all you needed.' She laughed.

He was so into the atmosphere and the whole night alone that he had even let her try on his bow tie, which was something he had never done. Something about her, it struck him, addled him, everytime he looked in her eyes she was too hard to resist. She could make him do almost anything. He felt helpless under her demanding gaze and he wrapped a comforting arm around her while she lit up again. The smoke rose and evaporated in the air, but not before he caught the scent. He had always loved the smell of smoke, particularly that of woodsmoke.

'Enjoying it, are you?'

'I guess. I just like the smell.'

'It is very nice.'

Mike came up to them, explaining how they were all ordering takeaway and having a party. Clara jumped at the opportunity, yet John wasn't so eager. He didn't do parties much. Clubs he could handle, but parties...

'Are you coming?' He asked, and John was shocked that he had even considered him, let alone invited him.

'I, um, I'm not much of a party guy. Thanks for the offer, though.'

'Really?' She turned to him, big, wide eyes turning on their charm. He felt like he was being sucked right to the centre of those pupils, drawn in without any control. He heard the disappointment in her voice, which made him feel so much more important than he was.

'Yeah, I just can't do them, I don't like going round other people's houses.'

She tugged on his arm. 'Please?'

It felt like his brain was being tugged too, stretched so far he was obliged to make the opposite decision.

'...Alright then.'

Leaping up from the ground and pulling him up with her he could see he had pleased her by saying yes. In a way, he found it adorable but wouldn't dare tell her that in fear of his limbs getting detached. More walking through the lamplit streets, yet he didn't mind. His eyes kept wandering to the aimless hand by her side, urging his own to take it, but refusing to. She would probably make a sappy comment and laugh at his old-fashionedness. It was when they had entered the spacious house and food had arrived that John let himself go and got himself as drunk as the previous night. Stupid mistake.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

It couldn't have gotten any wilder. And from the club night, that was saying something. He did not expect in any way what would happen by the end of it. His last distinct memory was of entering the house and being almost blinded by the bright lights creating a strobe effect and the number of people already crowding the living room. Sofas were pushed up against the wall yet some lay there, kissing. The music was popping his ears and Clara grinned beside him. He did not give off the same reaction. It looked like a typical house party that would end spiralling in different scandals and awkward situations. He hardly wanted to be a part of it, but at the same time the annoying and non-independent part of his brain wanted to impress Clara. For reasons unknown to him he focused on that idea, taking a step into the room and instantly smelling the now unmistakable smell of marijuana. His night had been full of it already, yet the world decided he needed to endure more. Tonight alone he had tried a cigarette and joined into a house party. Smoke clouded around his vision as two smokers pushed past and he coughed instinctively. Why he had thought this was a good idea he'd never know. But it was about to get much worse.

John woke up, a constant ringing in his ears resonating to his head until it felt like his skull was clanging. His eyes slowly opened like he was afraid of what he might see. He knew instantly he was in for another morning of the famous hangover. And then he realised he was sprawled out on the floor, face down, beer cans scattered everywhere and a roll up between his fingers. Oh shit. He stared at the cylinder of death in his hands and let his head bang back on the floor. He had sunk to a new low. He sniffed it cautiously, relieved that it was only tobacco. He finally managed to crawl out of his position and stare at everyone else. Some were on the couch, some like him were on the floor but most had women lying next to them. He shakily stood, his hand going to his head as he fought the dizziness. He didn't want to be there any longer, yet couldn't find his coat. He spotted it wrapped round a woman but was too polite to take it from her. With a troubling and aggravated sigh he sat back down on the floor, trying to recount last nights events. It was mostly blacked out, but one memory struck him hard. He couldn't he sure which one it was, but he was positive he had kissed a girl last night, although he knew it wasn't Clara. Where was Clara now? He had to find her. Wandering through the halls he saw every door shut and knew better not to enter them. He would just have to wait, or go home. And he really just wanted the latter. His desire lead him to carefully remove his jacket off the brunette and walk out, trying to think clearly despite his painful head. He had no doubt he would throw up again but hoped he held it in. He hardly recognised where he was but knew somewhere, the pub was not far. He randomly took a direction hoping it would lead him there and after twenty minutes of walking he made it. The rest of the walk back to his apartment he was on autopilot, his thoughts taking him weird and wonderful places as it often did.

The next few days were hazy, going by in an instant. Clara didn't respond to his calls or stop buy, so he guessed he was busy. On the fifth day he couldn't stand it and longed for Clara's attention. Knocking faithfully on the door she answered, allowing him in without a word.

'Are you okay?'

'Yeah, I'm fine.'

'Why didn't you call?'

She shrugged. 'I didn't feel like calling.'

'What happened that night?' He laughed, taking a seat on her sofa and admired the sketch she was focused on.

'There are many nights, John, which one do you mean.'

'You can't have gone out again?!'

'Why can't I?' She demanded a trifle sharply.

'The house party one with the smoking and the pizza.'

'Oh. You don't remember what happened that night?' She smirked.

'Only vaguely.'

He realised that Clara would probably not be too impressed with him kissing another girl but the same could be said of his own weird jealousy of the men she'd take to bed.

'That night you got drunk again, ate a whole pizza, smoked two fags,' she emphasised incredulously, 'kissed a girl and went all the way.'

'Wait, what?'

'You were standing by the window kissing this girl. She started taking off her clothes, you only got as far as your shirt but then-'

She stopped. Something about what came next annoyed her and part of him didn't want to find out.

'What happened?'

'I kind of...interrupted you. Well actually, you saw me just as I called your name and you wrapped your shirt round you with such a guilty look it was daft. I don't know why, but I didn't take it well.'

'The kissing?'

She fidgeted, her hands playing with her fingers, her sketchbook cast to one side.

'I felt selfish because you were my friend and for some reason I didn't want to share you. Sounds silly, but I got mad and went home, banged some guy from the party who came home with me, can't remember his name. I guess you stayed the night.'

'Yes, I did.'

She nodded. 'Yeah, I thought you might. You were past the point of no return, Doctor. Was she good then, this girl?'

'Good at what?'

'Fucking.'

'No! No, no, no I didn't have sex with her.'

'What?'

'Unless I really went crazy and hallucinated that I had clothes on, I'm pretty sure we didn't. I was sleeping on the floor and I have no idea who the girl was.'

'Oh.'

And awkward silence settled in the room, and she began drawing again for an excuse of something to do. John could tell she felt almost guilty, but also much cheerier than moments before.

'Are you...relieved?'

She looked up from her book. He stared back at her and bathed himself in the dominating confidence she radiated constantly. It was so unbelievably attractive.

'Relieved you didn't have sex? Your choice, honey, I can't make that for you.'

'You regret leaving and sleeping with that guy, don't you?'

'I regret some men, some I don't. And I don't really mind where I do it, I guess it's just quieter at home.'

'But you left because of me. Because you thought I was going to have sex.'

'Yes, because I don't want to see you having sex. I've already told you, I had a lot to drink and was feeling selfish. I didn't want to see some girl act totally besotted with you.'

'Because you were jealous.'

'No! No, course not. I guess I felt protective. I was the one who found you, I didn't want someone else taking my place.'

'Found me? You didn't find me, Clara, I've been alive thirty years and am perfectly allowed to kiss any girl I want to.'

'I do have some ownership over you, don't I?'

'You don't own me Clara! We've been friends for only a short while.'

'I know. It's fine Doctor, let's just drop it. Just a misunderstanding.'

She was a dismissive person, but also one to hold a grudge. He could tell she was jealous inside, and the matter was weighing heavily on her mind.

'You just want to...let it all go?'

'Yeah.'

'No, you don't.'

'Yes, I do, Doctor.'

'You feel slightly guilty which you won't admit to, and you feel jealous. Don't lie to me, Clara.'

'How can you say that, you don't know-'

'I'm a bit of an empath. It helps when building character structure.'

'Fine, whatever, but drop it now Doctor.'

He deliberated, sitting there and looking up at her perched on the armrest. For the first time, he sensed she was uncomfortable.

'You don't see me being jealous around all the men you've been sleeping with-'

'Yes, I do.'

He sighed. He shouldn't have gone further with it.

'What are you sketching?' He asked, and she happily moved on the conversation.

'You. Stay still.'

'What?' He squirmed.

'I said stay still!'

'Why are you drawing me?'

'Your face is interesting.'

'That's one I've never heard before.'

'And your hair...it's so...odd. In a good way, and I've been trying to get a male model with features like yours.'

'Like mine?' He said incredulously, 'can I see?'

He shifted to stand, but she glared at him.

'Haven't finished yet.'

'Since when have you been drawing that?'

'Since you said you had no idea who the girl was.'

'Right.'

After a few minutes she held it up, comparing the finished drawing to his face. He walked round behind her, staring at the sketch. It was, indeed, very accurate, his hair and side parting exactly, and only very faint eyebrows above his jutting forehead. His eyes looked almost hollowed but the shape was spot on.

'You've made my nose wider.'

'No, that is actually the way it is. It's wider than you think.' She said, and he noticed how close he was, towering over her but only an inch from her face. She poked his nose playfully, laughing. He tried to catch her, but she ran audaciously to her bedroom. He followed, her giggles only heightening his determination. He finally caught her round the waist, whispering in her ear, 'Got you.'

Smiling notoriously, they stumbled, ending up on her bed. He laughed, an action he liked doing but not often enough. He had laughed more since knowing Clara, which wasn't a coincidence. She stared into his face, which no doubt looked the colour of raspberry jam.

'Can I draw you again?' She asked, her hair everywhere, tickling his chin.

'Ugh, fine.'

She raced to the living room, picking up a canvas.

'You're gonna draw me on a canvas?'

'Yeah, going for a full body sketch.'

She leaned against the back of the sofa, and she considered him as he stood awkwardly in front of her.

'Take off the jacket.'

He obeyed, throwing it over the side of the couch.

She positioned him how she wanted him to stand, and started to take his bow tie off.

'Hey, not the bow tie!'

'Please, Doctor. You can put it back on after.'

Without consent, she undid the tie anyway and threw it down. And then she undid the first few buttons on his shirt, which surprised him no end. Her fingers had lightly grazed his skin, and his heart beat faster as her fingers had worked on the buttons. She drew away, nodding and took her place by the sofa. He was glad at least she had left on his braces.

It felt like an infinity had passed until she finally finished. He observed it, impressed. Although he thought she had made him look a little too handsome.

'Now, pop off your shirt, quick as you like?'

'Wh-what?'

'I need to sketch your frame. You have the exact kind of chest, toned but thin. Your arms are slightly muscly but almost to the point of thin. I told you, you're a very interesting model.'

He didn't quite know what to say. Instead, he slid his braces off his shoulders and took off his patterned shirt.

She smiled when he threw it to the floor, her eyes roaming the exposed view of his chest. And this time he had no excuse; he was sober. Yet he felt comfortable enough around her.

Every time their eyes met he tried hard not to shake, and she marked him, her hands crafting artistically at the canvas. Her eyes would flick up, and then down, and sometimes just focus on a part of his body. It was a bizarre situation and his eyes wondered round her studio like apartment with fascination. He noticed the kitchen in a mess, the black painted wall around the sink, the bathroom door ajar. Every detail of her flat resembled her personality beautifully. It was something he pondered while watching those skilful hands and glittering eyes.

'Done.'

He smiled, taking the canvas in hand and regarding the portrait carefully. His chest was a little buffed up, but he guessed he hadn't looked in the mirror recently to know. Clara watched him stare at the picture, a soft tone to her voice he hadn't heard before.

'That's how I see you, at least.'

'It's good. Very good, brilliant.'

'Doctor?'

'Yeah?'

She bit her lip, making his breath catch in his throat.

'Could you take your trousers off?'

His eyes widened, and she smiled encouragingly.

'Please. Just your trousers. And you can sit down now.'

'Why are you making me do this?'

She didn't reply, but it had been rhetorical anyway. Something told him her answer would shock him.

He rested upon the sofa, sitting upright. She knelt in front of him, which made an awkward situation as her eye level was at his crotch. He blushed silently and she smirked at his expression. She stared down at her canvas while he undid his trousers, leaving his legs bare and his ridiculous bow tie boxers. He crossed his legs, and she started to draw. It was the weirdest thing he'd ever done, and of all things he never imagined he had the makings of a model, at least to one person. After an hour or so of quiet conversation she finished once again, and this time it was even better. Each stroke of pencil was accurate.

'You look better just with pants on.'

He stared at her, smiling.

'Just don't ask me to take them off.'

She met his eyes, trying to hide a smile.

'I won't.'


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

A Month Later

John collected the intimidating, white envelope and prayed it was something other than what he thought it was. He sat down in his writing chair, thumbing the letter and reading it with a crease between his eyes. His stomach dropped like it had a thousand times before but it didn't make it any better. He had learned not to get hopes up and be let down gently but the umpteenth time still struck hard. He was hopeful and doubtful for the first few times, now he only sent the manuscripts for persistence. He desperately wanted to get his book published, but with every 'thank you but sorry' letter he could hardly find the heart to look for another publishing house. At least he had a job, instead of relying on his stupid book no one liked. He worked mostly the night shift at the bar, which had been partly Clara's influence. He sniggered. Everything was Clara's influence. She had turned his whole world upside down. He held a cigarette between his fingers, smoke curling toward the ceiling. There was now a line of beer bottles across the kitchen surface. He even had a canvas of himself she had drawn up on his wall. He was very fond of it, not because he was a narcissist and self-obsessed, but because Clara had captured him so ingeniously it had to be displayed on the bare walls. He hoped she would paint or draw something else with as much charm, although many of them were still the dark, abstract pieces that decorated her own flat. It was weird how he had spent so much time with her in such a short period, but it felt natural to him. He stared once again at the stubborn letter with its official logo and endearing scripture. He crumpled it up in his hands, throwing it violently at the bin. He leaned back in his chair, taking a drag and trying to calm his mind. The only thing that would console him now was Clara, and he vulnerably gave in. Picking up his phone, he dialed her number, telling her about his latest rejection and asking her to come over. A half hour later and she was at his door. Opening it for her she strode in, and he immediately lit up her own cigarette for her.

'I should have my own key.' She told him.

'Really? If you had a key to my door, god knows what you'll do.'

'I'm still important enough to have one, right?'

He smiled at her victorious grin and raise of eyebrows.

'So, is your book that bad or do they just hate you?'

'I thinks it's both, actually. Especially the latter.'

'What's it about?'

'Oh, just a silly adventure fantasy book, nothing special. I keep trying and redrafting and rewriting parts as much as I can but I can't get anywhere with it.' He sat sullenly in his chair, staring at the stacked papers everywhere that contained all sorts of rewritten chapters and notes. Clara's arms wrapped round his chest and despite her comfort he couldn't help reminding himself of what a complete loser he was.

'You'll get there eventually.' she promised, withdrawing and collapsing onto the sofa.

'I don't know.' He sighed. He hated looking so helpless in front of her. Clara sensed this, asking him if he wanted a hug. He toddled over to her like an upset child, settling himself down next to her and feeling those slender arms hug him tenderly. It was one of those things he loved, that despite her character, she could be very caring, and only to him. It counterbalanced any type of jealousy he felt over Clara because he was the only one to receive any kind of comfort from her. She made him feel special, which was something most people failed at. He leaned against her shoulder and she played with his droopy hair while he smiled contently. It was moments like this he wanted to freeze in time.

••••

'Hey, it's me. You okay?' She asked, while he lay in bed relaxedly. A smile had spread on his face when she had called.

'Yeah, I'm fine. Will you be at the bar tonight?'

A pause of hesitation, and then she answered. 'I don't think so, today, Doctor.'

Her voice sounded weak, almost coarse. It worried him.

'Why, are you okay?'

Another pause. John decided there was something definitely going on.

'Yeah, course. Just feeling a bit tired.'

'No.'

'What?'

'Clara Oswald is never tired and never refuses a night out.'

'Well, I don't feel much like myself today.'

There it was again, a desperate and definite weak tone in her voice.

'What's happened?'

She sighed. 'Nothing.'

'Clara, tell me what's happened. You're not acting like yourself.'

'I told you, I'm fine.' She stressed, and his heart started beating rapidly.

'Where are you?'

She didn't answer directly. 'I'm okay.'

He sat up in bed, his hands clenching his phone to his ear.

'Where are you?' He repeated.

'...hospital.'

He could hardly process what she said.

'I'm fine though, don't come over, I'll see you later. In fact, I'll see you tonight at the bar. I'm fine. I'm okay.' She assured.

'What happened?'

'Don't you dare come over here-'

'Too late.' He hung up, already getting dressed properly and making way to the bus stop. What stupid, adventuresome thing had she done this time? He could list many, and his stomach became knots as he thought of her in hospital. She was so fucking reckless it scared him to death. It better be mild, otherwise he might break something in his frustration. It was too much sometimes, too much to handle, too much to lose. He would advise her to stop being so aggravatingly impulsive. She had wrapped him up so much into her own creation, moulding him into a party boy, which he had come to love. It felt like he had only just opened his eyes to the thrills of life, but he didn't want Clara to close hers.

As soon as he got there he rushed to her hospital bed in a state of panic.

'Jesus Christ, I'm not dying.' She smirked, arms stubbornly crossed. 'I told you not to come.'

'I'm not gonna leave you here am I? What happened?'

'It was completely pitch black, I got on my motorbike, went too fast. And by too fast, I mean seriously speeding, it was brilliant. Anyway, the damn thing stumbled over something, I don't know what it was. But it punctured my tire. I continued my speed, and I eventually came to one of those steep hills and I got really excited. But I ended up crashing. There was loads of blood.' She grinned.

'What the hell, Clara?! Where you on drugs that night?'

She snorted. 'Course I was.'

He shook his head, covering it with his hands despairingly.

'What were you thinking, you fucking crazy bitch? You have to stop this, I'm scared that one day you'll get yourself killed.'

'I'm not.'

His face flared red, his hand banging against the metal frame of the bed, yet he could hardly feel the pain.

'Well there are people who would care if you died, and I'm not letting you do that!'

'You can't make me give this up. This rush, this risk-taking and adrenalised life is mine, and I am not changing my ways for fucking safety or protection.'

'Why are you so uncontrollable?' He whispered, his voice cracking.

'Look, I don't get why you do this to yourself, why you kept on driving even though you knew your fucking tire was broken, but you can't be so fucking careless and brash. How many injuries did you sustain?'

His eyes sparked with worry, a lump stuck in his throat. He had finally come to the inevitable question he could hardly bear to listen to.

'My head was bleeding a lot, but they cleared that up. Actually, I think they stitched a hole up, I've got a scar. My arms were both close to having been broken but I've gotten away with sprains. My knees were bloody and a piece of tarmac had lodged itself into one of them, but it's taken out now. Ankle sprain. Cut forehead. Nothing else.'

He looked closer at the cut on her forehead, cleaned but bright red. He tilted her head back and what he saw nearly made him sick. A huge, ugly scar only just visible underneath her hair. Her head had clearly been split open, and while the doctors had done a good job of repairing it, it brought angry tears to his eyes.

'You're gonna get yourself killed.' He told her, his voice mutated almost brokenly as he tried to fight the welling up of his eyes. His expression was fierce and angry but despairing. She stared almost guiltily down at him, realising just how much pain it was causing him. But of course, she wouldn't apologise. She didn't say anything, and John took her hand in his gently, kissing it lightly.

'Why are you doing this?' He asked, his eyes now red.

'Because it's me, it's what I do. I'm not changing who I am.'

'I don't ask for that,' he pleaded, 'just that you realise when you're going too bloody far. You got lucky. You got so fucking lucky, that could easily have killed you.'

She nodded half heartedly, but stared down at him so much he could feel a shiver run down his spine.

'For the next few days you are resting, I don't care if you're too bored. I will personally keep both my eyes on you to make sure you're healing properly. No drugs, no drinking, no nights out, no sex. Got it?' He asked.

She sighed. 'That's not gonna happen.'

'Yes, it will.' He told her forcefully, 'I don't give a damn what you say, you're to lay off everything and take it easy even after you're healed.'

She tried to put up an argument about it but finally agreed grumpily.

'Its for your own good. I don't want you hurt like this. You're too headstrong and careless. Just one more thing,' he gazed into those brown eyes, so usually full of life, 'I'm going to drive the motorbike.'

She laughed. 'You can't drive one.'

'I'll learn to, then,' he smiled.

'You're turning into me.' She observed.

'I guess so,' he grinned, 'I'm not as crazy as you, but I am going to learn to ride a motorbike. You've made me feel so free.'

She smiled down at him, and he rubbed circles with his thumb over her hand. He never thought Clara could mean so much to him as she did right then.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

It took Clara a little over six weeks to fully heal, and in that time he had never seen her so mentally bad and ill. For the first few weeks he had let her stay round his place, offering up his bed for her and making do on the sofa. He wasn't joking when he told her he'd keep eyes on her, because that is exactly what he did. Made her feel comfortable, breakfast in bed, anything she wanted. He had once woken up early to see Clara wander the to the bathroom shower in nothing but pants and one of his shirts. It was like he was having an affair with her, sleeping with her every night. For some reason the very thought had put a smile on his face.

Clara could mostly wait until he woke up for breakfast, but complained there was nothing exciting to do in that time. He had tried to cut off his work hours at the bar but couldn't. For the rest of the day they'd lounge about, Clara admitting she had never spent so much time indoors. He could tell he ached for another adventure, to ride on her motorbike and smoke another joint like she usually could. He would laugh at the devilish glance she would give him whenever he had a cigarette, as by the rules of both the doctors and the Doctor (John had found that one funny) she was to restrict everything.

It was the nights that he always worried about. It was in those times Clara was at her most audacious and tried to go out. As he was working at the bar it always made him nervous, but by some miracle she had managed to stay at home every night.

In that time he had also took the motorbike lessons, and once Clara's had repaired he could ride it to his job, much to Clara's jealousy. She had looked almost fragile at first but had built up that confident and self-assured barricade she deflected even the simplest generosities from once again.

'Why do you keep doing this?' She asked him, sprawled out on his sofa while he brought her lunch.

'Because I'm your Doctor.' He smiled, settling down next to her.

'I know you're my Doctor but can you be someone else for just five minutes? Could we go out somewhere? Just one fag?' She bartered, widening her irresistible eyes that John had to look away from to give the correct answer.

'No, Clara, I've already told you. You have only two weeks left, don't start doing this now.'

'Two weeks feels like forever,' she complained, finally taking the food, 'can't we just do something fun?'

John reflected on it. The only other thing she could continue was her drawings, but four weeks of that and Clara had told him she would jump off a cliff to die sooner. The frown and hurt in his eyes had provoked a rephrasing of words. Clara knew he was sensitive to those things, and gladly never brought them back up again. Maybe an outing was what she needed. Nothing illegal, nothing really adventurous, but definitely something fun.

'How about...' He started, and Clara's slender legs rested atop his lap and he quickly deliberated a final decision. Watching Clara's normally high and energetic face he smiled. She deserved something nice to do.

'Going to the cinema? Nothing too stretching, just sitting down and watching a film. And then a bite to eat?' He suggested. A grin slowly spread on her face.

'Okay,' she nodded, 'cinema it is.'

She kissed his cheek before she sauntered out of the room and into his, where he had spared most of his wardrobe for her own clothes, except his shirts. That was probably why she wore them to bed so often. Once she was dressed he took his turn, fixing his bow tie, slicking back his hair. Clara seemed impressed of his effort, and John observed the tight fit dress she wore that hugged her curves perfectly. It even made her look taller than she was. He was nervous to take her on the motorbike, but as he would be driving, he gave in. Clara had been nagging and nagging to ride her beautiful Harley, even as a passenger and what she described was his 'snail-slow pace.'

Climbing on and fixing the helmet he had acquired to Clara's head, she groaned.

'I am NOT wearing a helmet. I never have before when driving, and definitely not as a passenger. You wear it, you are driving.'

'If you had of worn a helmet, you wouldn't have ended up with a huge scar on your head and a less amount if time to heal, so it's your fault.'

'But you are the one driving, you need it!'

'You're more important.'

'No I am fucking not!'

He sighed, turning round.

'Do you want to ride on this motorbike or not? We can just as easily catch a bus or stay at home.'

She sighed angrily, snatching the helmet from him.

'I fucking hate you.'

He smiled, feeling Clara's hands wrap round his waist. It was strange that she was the one holding onto him, when he had vowed from the very start he wouldn't ride one ever again. But things change. He revved up the engine and drove off down the roads, Clara frequently complaining he was going way too slow. He replied with a simple 'safety rules, Clara.' Which he gathered annoyed her greatly. He had enjoyed every moment he spent on the bike, and agreed that it was a thrill to ride, even at his speed. Once they had parked in the cinema car park he had grinned.

'Not bad.' She admitted, taking off the helmet with a sigh of relief. Together they entered through the swinging doors and John knew it had been a good idea to take her out like this. He wondered why he hadn't suggested it in the first place. Even now in a safe and legal place, he could see the warmth returning to her cheeks just at being out again. He guessed being stuck inside for so long was too much for her.

She scanned the list of films, choosing (surprise, surprise) a mentally disturbing horror that John had at first been very reluctant about. She had claimed it would spark inspiration for her gory art and he couldn't say no. He just wanted to make her happy. The next bicker was evidently about money, and Clara insisted on paying for herself. Yet John managed to override her and at first she had gotten mad about it.

'Hey, I'm the one taking you out, not the other way round.'

At this, her face had perked up, turning round teasingly.

'You're 'taking me out' are you?'

'Yes, I am, now go get seats.' He had told her.

Being with Clara was not easy for any man, but to him she was just very independent. He sensed she had always been that way. She had took her seat and he had sunk down beside her, offering her popcorn. She had talked through all the adverts, resting her head on his shoulder while he listened to her peacefully. Once the movie had started she was alert and smiling wickedly to herself at each agonising and graphic death. John had winced more than once but one look at Clara's face doubted any regrets he had previously had. He watched her for the rest of the film, admiring the way she would smile and laugh, turn to him and say something funny, her eyes glimmering in the darkened room.

'That was brilliant.' She told him as they made their way out.

'Was it? I didn't watch much.'

'Cowering under the seat weren't you?'

'Yeah,' he laughed, 'did you get any good inspiration?'

'Many. I'm actually thinking of a painting I could do right now. Glaze it in light graffiti, I think it would look good.'

'I'm glad.'

'Usually I hate going to the cinema, they make me feel confined to one space where I can't do anything. Yet I actually enjoyed myself for the first time. It was probably because you were there.'

'Really?'

She nodded.

'Fancy some dinner?'

She gave him an incredulous smile.

'I thought you were joking.'

'Nothing is ever a joke when I'm with Clara Oswald,' he replied, 'let's go.'

John couldn't just take Clara to a small cafe in that dress, so he found a proper restaurant. Smiling and holding the door open for her, she stepped into a polished wood panelled dining area, pictures in frames and different charms around it. There were a lot of people there, but he lead her to a free table, where they sat didn't together. There were dim lights above them but a candle flickered between them. They ordered drinks and mostly subdued themselves to silence until they came. John allowed Clara alcohol for the first time since the accident, and she lit up considerably. And that was when she decided to bring the subject up. Clara chewed on her lip suggestively, in which he found incredibly alluring.

'Have you taken me on a date?' She asked, watching his flustered face try to come up with a coherent answer.

'Do you consider this a date?' He asked, licking his lips nervously.

'Proper restaurant, lights, candles, intimate booths, I'd say so.'

He smiled favourably at her, raising his glass slightly.

'Then it is.' He said, letting the drink wash away the lump in his throat.

'I don't do dates.' She said.

'Me neither. It's why I've been single for ten years.' He sniggered.

'But I make exceptions,' she cut across, and John's ears were suddenly alert to what she was saying, 'I think you are one of them, John Smith.'

She looked into his eyes, and set down his glass.

'You never called me John. Always the Doctor. The only time you called me that was on that first night we met in the pub. This right now actually reminds me of that night.'

'I know, John.'

'Why are you calling me that?'

'Because it's your name.'

'Can't you just call me Doctor?'

'Why don't you let people use your first name?'

'Because 'Doctor' is my pen name. That is the name of the author trying to get his bloody books published. That is the name I want to live up to. I don't want people referring to me as John, it's the name I use for myself. Because inside I'm just a weak and helpless failure. I always have been.'

'You are not a failure. You are my best friend. And I want to use your own name.'

He blinked, looking down at the table. She reached for his hand.

'John...is that alright?'

He looked back up at her, quite amazed she had asked for permission. Clara usually did everything of her own accord to which no one could stop her.

'Yes.' He smiled.

Maybe getting her to call him John would give him a little more comfort and confidence. He was a little tired of living up to his name of 'Doctor.' It had always been an important title to fulfil.

They ordered food, Clara only mildly mentioning the only thing she needed was a cigarette to top things off. John laughed. Even after everything, it always came back down to smoking.

'Sorry. Not tonight.'

They had such a nice time, the warmth of the restaurant and the closeness between them really built their relationship to higher ground, or John thought so, anyway. There was a spark in her eyes that he had missed seeing over the past weeks, and he played with her fingers absent-mindedly while they talked. The night outside was growing darker until it was a royal, deep blue. Departing the cosy restaurant, and into the cold night, they walked out together. Clara shivered in her dress, and John put his long tweed coat over her, wrapping an arm around her. They strolled to the motorbike together, and Clara climbed on first, yet pushed the helmet toward him.

'I wore it on the way here.'

'Clara-'

'No, come on, wear it.'

He took it defeatedly, putting it on as he revved the engine. Clara's arms once again wrapped round his waist, his own tweed jacket hanging limply off her and tickling his shirt. As they drove down the road, he could feel Clara playing with one of the buttons on his shirt, and he smiled. It had started with a drink and ended with a motorbike, just like tonight had. The wind whipped Clara's hair about everywhere, and she let out a whoop of excitement at her rejuvenated freedom. John couldn't help but laugh. Tonight was one he would never forget.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

John didn't know what he had done to deserve this. Had karma finally swung his way or was he suddenly luck's target for the evening? Whatever it was, he had to check he wasn't dreaming or hallucinating moments before death. Incredulously, it seemed he was alive. They had parked outside in their usual spot of his apartment, the moon casting it's light and creating shadows dancing along both of their faces. They were both laughing, making their way into the building. John opened the door, almost missing the waiting envelope on the floor. Clara stepped over it, turning to him.

'Do you think it's-'

'Yeah, it is but it's going to be a rejection.'

'You don't know that.'

'Yes, I do, Clara not one letter out of the twenty-five I've sent have agreed to publish my book, there is no way.' He watched the ominous envelope on the floor, mocking him. Gingerly, he picked it up, expecting nothing but an apology letter. Clara stood beside him as he unfurled it and started reading. His eyes widened, his heart stopped. Clara looked at him, his shocked, pale face and her own widened into an equally stunned expression.

'John,' she said, shaking his shoulder, his ears only half hearing her, 'you did it.'

Her words finally struck the chord within him, yet still all he could do was stare. He was speechless. The official and signed lettering told him they were interested in his manuscript and would like to meet him personally to talk further about his book. He blinked, his mind trying to see through what he thought he read to the usual disappointment. Yet he couldn't. There it was, in print. He could hardly believe it. Clara tried to get him to respond, but in that moment he felt such exultance and pride that he threw the letter to the ground and jumped in the air excitedly. He never thought he could feel this happy but as he dropped to the floor he covered his face unbelievably, trying to make sense of what was happening. Clara knelt beside, shaking him, repeating what he already knew. His head raised to look at her, still astonished by what had happened. She kissed his cheek, ruffling his hair.

'I can't believe you're getting your book published! After all that time, it's finally happened, John.'

He laughed disbelievingly, his whole body shaking. He had awaited this moment for years and it finally came. It was so much better to have Clara there too, encouraging him, praising him like she never had before. He managed to stand, picking up the letter and shaking his head in awe.

'We need to celebrate. I'm getting some wine.'

John didn't object, even though Clara was still technically in the process of healing he needed a drink before his heart burst. Retrieving two glasses she poured both of them some wine. John collapsed on the sofa, Clara lighting up his cigarette for him.

'I can't believe it! I'm so happy for you.'

'I don't quite know what to say, to be honest. I'm mostly speechless.'

'I'd imagine so. Your own book is getting published!'

'I never thought I'd get anywhere. I hoped, but I never thought.'

'Well, you put a lot of effort into it. Kept sending your book again and again to as many publishing houses as you can. All the other ones are foolish for turning you down.'

'You haven't even read it, to you it's probably crap.'

'John, stop putting yourself down! Someone out there liked it.'

He turned to her, changing subject.

'It feels weird of you calling me John.'

'Aren't we supposed to be talking about your success? They want to meet you and everything-'

'Will you come with me?' He interjected, 'to meet these people. I'd really appreciate if you were there, you'd probably calm me down.'

She looked straight through to his pupils, and that intense a gaze was hard to ignore.

'Yes, I will.'

She reached over him to grab his box of roll ups, but he caught her.

'No smoking, Clara.'

'Come on, I've been dying for one. You keep teasing me whenever you light one up you son of a bitch, I'm having one now, especially as there is good reason to.'

'I don't want you ruining your health as well as your physical state.'

'Relax boy, it's not weed. I'll settle for a normal one.'

He sighed, but didn't say anything more. She leant back on the sofa as she took a drag, observing his uptight posture which was rather out of place given the news.

'How do you feel?'

She asked, blowing the smoke in his direction to attract his attention.

'I don't really know how I feel. I don't think I've considered how big a change it might make my life.' He said, turning to face her.

'It could,' she inhaled, 'you just don't look happy about it.'

'Oh Clara, you have no idea how happy I am. Oh god, it has just hit me. Clara, I've just realised-'

He leaned back, his breathing erratic, his face twisted into the widest smile she had ever seen.

'Jesus, don't have a heart attack. I think I actually prefer you silent and brooding.'

He downed the rest of his wine and inhaled smoke, the grin never fading. It was finally sinking in, he was finally feeling the effect of the alcohol and cigarette go straight to his head. He couldn't describe how ecstatic he was.

'I'm really happy for you. I don't think I've ever felt this happy for anyone else.'

'I'm touched.'

'Don't you dare.'

He grinned. 'I bet you love it really.'

She shook her head.

He observed her fully, how beautiful she looked in that dress, her flawless legs tucked beneath her, her whole face glowing, calling out to him. He studied her for a long time, before her eyes met his again. He didn't know who leaned in first, but suddenly her lips crashed into his and they were kissing furiously, tongues grappling for dominance, in which he of course let her take lead. He was afraid she would withdraw as she had before, tell him it was a mistake and that they were just friends. Yet she didn't, and the fusion of both their lips together was like fire itself striking both of them. Right then he didn't care about his book, he didn't care about anything else, it was only Clara Oswald right there kissing him, and she leaned against him, lowering him down into the sofa. She classily reached over his head to the ashtray on the table next to the couch, her hands now massaging his cheeks. He also tried to place his wine down gently, yet ended up spilling it. She laughed against his mouth.

'You spilled it.'

His hand came to rest on her back, and then she grinded into him, making him moan and all his focus lost. He allowed himself to melt underneath her, prey to her touch.

'I thought you said I wasn't your type.' He breathed, barely holding himself together.

'Shut up.' She murmured, pressing harder against his crotch and her kissing becoming wilder.

He was in the most excruciating pleasure when she left him lying there and he couldn't feel her sweet lips on his. He made a sound of annoyance, at which she pulled him up from the couch. Her eyes dazzling enticingly he stepped into her and kissed her again, longing for her tongue to glide over his mouth like she had done previously. He knew he was being eager, but couldn't help it. An amazing and beautiful woman like Clara couldn't receive a lesser response. He caught her lips with his and she silently undid his buttons one-handed, while the other guided his own round her waist. She was a natural, no doubt about it. With all the practice she had gained there was no questioning, he knew that he was in for the best he had ever had. She had seduced him with just a click of her fingers, and now he was wrapped up in her touch and wondering if there really was a heaven out there that was better than this. His chest now exposed her fingertips danced over him, which made him shiver. He was still trying to hold on, keep track of everything that was happening all at once as he kept kissing her repetitively. She spun him around, taking hold of his shirt and pulling him forward, toward his bedroom. He leaned even further into her as she tugged him through the door and allowed him to push her onto the bed. Climbing atop her he ran his hands over her body and everywhere he could reach. She violently discarded him of his shirt and tossed it away, with so much force it made him gasp. She yanked him closer to her so there wasn't an inch of space between them.

'Clara,' he whispered breathlessly, 'I don't want to hurt you anymore, you're still healing. Your head, your limbs-'

'Shut the fuck up.' she demanded, rolling him onto his back and taking control like with everything she did, yet to this she applied so much more power to make him do whatever she wanted. She was a very influential woman and that excited him. She reached down between his thighs, palming him through his trousers and making his head spin. She leaned down on him, almost making him vanish into the duvet. She finally pulled down his trousers, moving down on his body and making him moan helplessly. She took off her dress, watching him stare at her as she threw it to the grits and locked lips with him once again. Clara took the last offending piece of clothing from him and sunk down on his now hard cock, making him elicit a groan she smiled wickedly at. She rocked against him, sliding up and down his length faster and faster and letting his hands run through her hair. He exclaimed her name aloud as he came, and she collapsed on top of him, managing a slow, open-mouthed kiss that exhilarated the both of them. John was grinning widely, still panting but looking up at her with sparkling eyes.

'Tell me that was the best you ever had.' She said against him, kissing the sensitive part of his neck.

'That was definitely the best I ever had.' He agreed shockingly, still overwhelmed from the sensation tingling through his body and leaving a trace of longing behind. She was absolutely perfect. She smiled satisfactorily, and then her hand guided his to her breasts and he mercilessly massaged them copiously. She nodded at him, still grinning seductively until he grinned back at her, and then rolled over so he was now on top, pinning her to the bed and allowing her legs to wrap round his waist. He held her for the first time in his life carnally; as could be said of his kiss. He entered her in a rough and sweet pleasure that nearly took his breath away once again. Clara always liked to dominate, but something told him she was rather enjoying a male counterpart just as eagerly dominant. She threaded her fingers through his floppy hair and their hips aligned to meet each other's thrusts. Her head rolled back sexily and everything about that moment seemed to slow down, freeze, like he was imprinting it into his mind. He looked down at her adoringly and it was a wave of emotion that took him, although still lost in throes of passion he could see her clearly now; like his eyes were suddenly wide open to take all of her in, in the most vibrant and vivid colours, her skin seeming to shine incandescently, her lips an invitingly fire red, her bronze skin contrasting beautifully. His palm stroked her smooth cheeks, marvelling at her soft, flowing hair that framed her face like a waterfall. It glimmered different shades and tones to him, and he saw a plethora of colours all over her body. He smiled. He knew she was different, adventurous, thrilling to be with, a risk taker. He finally concluded that he was seeing her soul, a myriad of colour where everyone else's was so much more boring.

There was something almost tender about the way she kissed him then, something purer than just desire. But he was only caught in it for a moment, and then Clara decided to overrule him, take back her usual control which he didn't mind a bit. It was a privilege if someone as bossy as Clara was taking lead in the bedroom; and much more of a privilege when he realised just how lucky he was that she was there with him. The night may have grown older and darker as a new dawn began, but John wasn't too concerned for that as he contently kissed a trail up her neck to her jaw and finally to those enticing lips. Oh, what a night it had been.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

John's eyes fluttered open against the light, feathery pillow. For a second he couldn't register where he was, and why he had no clothes on. He smiled broadly as then he noticed Clara Oswald sleeping beside him. She was lying half on him on her stomach, an arm still round his neck and fingers embedded in his hair. He watched her, breathing quietly with her hair covering part of her face. It was a miracle he had even become her friend, much less sleep with her. He decided to chance it, wrap his other arm around her so she was tucked safely in the middle. He couldn't help the pathetic grin he wore and all his thoughts raced by without any consideration. Clara finally woke after another hour of sleeping, and broke free of his embrace.

'Are you okay?' She asked politely, not the type of question he thought would surface when they were in bed together.

'Yes, I am.'

She smiled briefly at him, and he sat up straight.

'Is everything alright?'

'...yeah.'

John didn't quite know what had happened to make them both so uncomfortable but he finally realised that whatever friendship there was between them, they had destroyed it indefinitely last night. He slowly trudged to the bathroom, his mind wandering over the details that puzzled him. He had to remind himself he was nothing more than another man to her, someone she had had sex one night and forgotten about the next. Yet he knew he was more than that to her, but couldn't help panicking that everything would go to waste, perhaps she really would regret it, maybe tell him that it was a mistake like some of the others she'd had. Whatever the outcome, he could openly admit it had been the most amazing experience and nothing could ever change that. Although he was determined to keep Clara at least as his friend. He wasn't ready to lose her.

He slipped back under the duvet, where Clara was slumping against the pillows dragging from her cigarette in the sexiest way possible which almost turned him on again. Her hair now had the messy bedhead look and her vivid red lipstick was slightly smudged. She had changed into a revealing silk nightie from which he could still see her cleavage. She was absolutely perfect. He himself had put on his red and white 60's Y fronts that she smirked at.

'Bit old fashioned aren't they?'

He didn't say anything, her voice was enough to silence him.

'Although, they look sexy...'

He smiled suggestively. If anything, she was leading him on.

'I wear old-fashioned clothes. Maybe it's starting to grow on you.'

'I never thought I'd find them attractive. Probably only because you wear them.'

He could hardly resist their seductive flirting, which made his heart pound. He didn't know how she was able to flirt with him, if this was what she did with all men or if this was something special between them. He could never tell.

'Well, I could say a lot about you in return, Miss Oswald, all of them starting with attractive and ending in sexy.'

'You're getting good at this, aren't you? Have you been practising?' She laughed.

'With a woman like you I have to constantly...' At this point she was getting closer, her face nearly in the proximity of his, 'keep up.'

'John?' She whispered, in a low and infuriatingly provocative tone.

'Yes?'

'I think I might need to draw you like this, in those dashing underpants.'

Her lips sealed his, and her hands dragged him emphatically over to her side and slowly he replied between elongated kisses, 'fine by me.'

She giggled almost wickedly, and caused him to bite down on her lip. It seemed she greatly appreciated it in a vexatious sort of way, just as he did with her arousing forcefulness. It seemed she really did value him, more so than he thought, than all her other men. Her touch was magnetic, electrifying his skin. A few hours later and they still hadn't moved from the warm bed. They were wrapped up in the sheets, and it was by far the best morning he had ever spent. This time Clara had arms around him, stroking his hair as he rested his head between her collarbones. His head was swirling round manically with questions, and couldn't find the heart to repress them any longer. He knew he shouldn't bring it up; allow himself a romantic day and night with a beautiful woman, who also happened to be his best friend.

'Is this different...to what you, uh...usually do?'

He could sense a slight shift to her mood, telling him that she didn't want to bring it up.

She nodded. 'I usually leave in the morning. If the man's nice I might do it again, or give him what he wants, I'm not fussy. But this is different. I haven't stayed round a man's house as late as this.'

'This doesn't change anything, does it?' He asked cautiously.

She still stroked his hair, which he took as a good sign.

'Like what? What could it change?'

'Our friendship?' His face turned to hers, only inches apart.

'Why does everyone think that sleeping with your best friend ruins your friendship? It's a load of bullshit. Unless you really don't wanna be my friend, I don't see how it changes anything at all.'

In a way, he sort of agreed. That one problem everyone fussed over was way too cheesy and dramatic for him. He didn't want to lose Clara as a friend, but selfishly wanted this again. He didn't quite know where there relationship stood, but he would let Clara decide that. The only thing he was in control of was the healing of her injuries, and he'd already failed. He thought about his book being published, if his life would change in any way. Would Clara still want to spend time with him? He was getting ahead of himself. His book wasn't going to be an instant success, he wasn't going to be granted with fame and therefore Clara wouldn't slip away from him. Sometimes even simple fantasies could be burdens to the mind.

'No, I suppose it doesn't.' He said after, turning away. It was lunch time when John finally got up, making something to eat. He thought he'd be a gentleman and bring Clara breakfast/lunch in bed. Upon seeing him carrying a tray she shook her head.

'I thought you might find it cheesy.'

'Yet every woman wants a man to bring them breakfast in bed.'

'Well, it's sort of lunch now.'

'Three times a day then. Men often

'Oh well. I don't really have many plans today.'

'Oh?'

'I don't think I'll be wanting to get out of bed for once. Unless we properly celebrated your success and go out?'

'Nice try. And I thought we already had celebrated.'

His eyes flicked to hers, which she gave a subtle cock of the eyebrows back.

'Really?'

He nodded, grinning.

'Well then, we can celebrate some more.'

She pulled him to her, kissing him so he forgot his own name. The tray was slipping from her lap in their eagerness, and John took hold of it before it fell, withdrawing.

'Eat lunch first.' He nodded toward the food. She consented, while he sipped his coffee.

The next few weeks came and went, with Clara being able to revert back to her usual self but with the warning of his advice and not to do anything stupid. Since their first night together they had done it again, neither of them taking it seriously. Yet he enjoyed it, and couldn't contain the joyous feeling in his stomach when she had called him that second time because she was bored. It definitely made him feel like he wasn't worthless. The last time they had done it Clara had admitted he was getting better at it, which made him just a tiny bit pleased.

Clara would mostly drag everyone else to the bar, which was where he now worked behind. He felt like he was her boyfriend, even though she had never referenced him as such. It had addled his brain a little more than it should have, as Clara had on impulse, kissed him over the bar counter one shift. She had told him no one knew about their sleeping together but John couldn't be sure.

'Ah, bartender, can we have four tequila shots, two bottles of beer and three ciders please.'

He had snorted, studying Clara's face.

'Drinking light tonight?' He joked.

'Yeah, I took some of your advice. Can't knock myself out again, can't I? Oh, and do we get discounts?'

'What? No!'

'But you work here.' She told him, biting her lip and leaning further over the counter.

'That doesn't mean I give you drinks for free or for any less than the usual price.'

'You sound so strict and bossy, I think it's the uniform. At least you got to wear a bow tie with it.'

'They couldn't say no to the bow tie, Clara. Bow ties are cool.'

He gathered up their drinks, and she handed him money. She pushed a shot over to him.

'No, I can't drink in working hours.'

'Oh come on, John, just take it. No one will care.'

He shook his head at her, but took it cautiously.

'You'll still be there tomorrow with me, won't you? To meet the publishers.'

'Of course,' she kissed him on the cheek, 'we'll meet you outside when you're done. I'll have one rolled up and ready for you.' She winked.

'Thanks.' He replied, and watched her walk away. There was something about that attractive saunter that made him want to have sex with her again. It was the little things in the back of his conscious that his brain couldn't let go of, remarking in every little detail he found on her body. He didn't get his hopes up but maybe if he was lucky... He smirked, polishing a glass. He got back to work, but couldn't help his thoughts wandering. He joined them after his shift to smoke, then headed back home. Clara joined him, and after a few more drinks she was kissing him again. It seemed like she actually liked him; she hadn't slept with anyone else other than him since the first time, and the second was just as good. It was the morning after, he had wasted, drinking in bed, ordering takeaways and getting it on again. The last few weeks had been the best in his life and all he could think about was the time he had spent with her.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

'Hey, you nearly done yet?' He called through the bathroom door, doing up his top buttons and fixing his bow tie.

'Yeah, wait a minute!'

He sighed, leaning against the door. She always took longer than was necessary. After a few minutes she came out. Her hair was wavy and she wore a light but striking dress that showed off her smooth legs. She leaned against the door post as he stared.

'You-you look beautiful.' He stuttered, holding out his hand for her to take. She smiled at his compliment, and he smartened himself up a little more. He'd probably get the deal for all books he decided to write just if he brought Clara. She was enough to stun them into giving him whatever he wanted. Together they drove to a small cafe, Clara having to drive as he was shaking too much. She laughed as he stumbled off the vehicle, still quivering with nerves. He walked in to greet the man who smiled at his approach. He observed the brown, spiky hair and cool, easy smile. It wasn't until Clara was by his side he felt calmer. The man before him was around thirty-five, and produced more likeness to have published a book than he did. Nevertheless, he sat down at the table as the man addressed himself.

'I'm happy to meet you both, I'm Andrew Walker. I understand you are under the alias 'Doctor' for your book?'

'Yes. My name is John Smith, most people call me the Doctor. And I would like to keep it as my pen name, if that's alright with you.'

'Yes, that should be fine,' his gaze wandered to Clara, and she was given a warm smile, 'and you are Mrs Smith?'

John blushed, Clara only laughed.

'No, no, just a friend.' She told him, shaking his hand.

'My apologies. So, John, if it's alright to call you that, let's start on your book. It was an interesting read and we would like to consider options for publishing.'

John squirmed just a little at the use of his real name, and Clara could see it. She put a comforting hand to he to his thigh under the table, and then he felt he could speak.

'I'm, uh, very glad. I've been to many publishing houses and you were the first to accept the book. I know it's not that good-'

'No, don't be modest. We enjoyed it. It's been a while since we've read a young adult fantasy, we usually publish adult and fiction books. I think it was, in my opinion, a fantastic read.'

John smiled. He had never received such praise for his work. Under the table, Clara's hand squeezed his thigh encouragingly. He felt professional for once.

'Do you have any history with published books?'

'Uhm, I published a series of children's books late last year. I've also had a few of my poems published in some anthologies. This is my first time with a book and I was quite desperate to get it published as I'm not getting any younger.'

He laughed. 'I understand. I would be happy to sign for the publication of your book if you sign for all the rights to it, like possible merchandise, movie rights, ect. I think your book had the potential to go far. I really engaged with the characters and I'm sure everyone else would be as well. It would make a fine edition the YA fantasy genre.'

John was stunned. For once, completely speechless. Even Clara could hardly say a word.

'Movie...movie rights?' He asked incredulously.

He chuckled again. 'Don't get your hopes up. It's just in case film industries are interested in making a movie adaptation.'

'I can't quite believe it's actually happening.' He said.

'Well, we just need you to sign. We'll take care of the rest.'

'Brilliant, I'll look forward to a celebratory night out tonight.' Clara emphasised, nudging him. Of course she wanted to go out.

'I'd be more than happy...if you get my book published.'

'Of course,' He said, standing up, 'we'll keep you notified.'

Shaking his hand once again, he couldn't stop the smile and his own pride from bursting.

'Thank you, so much. You've given me the confidence I needed. I'm so glad you liked it.' John told him.

'Yes, I did. And thank you.'

They departed with high spirits and Clara helped to remind him of his success and the hint of a night out. John had to agree to it, as he was in such exultance and peace an evening out appealed to him greatly.

That night was spent in a club, many people asking if Clara and John were a couple. Of course they denied it, but he was almost too tempted to say yes. He didn't know how she would react to it but a part of him sensed she wouldn't be happy to be labelled his girlfriend. It was why a relationship, whether romantic or mutual, was so confusing and mostly one-sided with Clara. They drank, smoked, drank, smoked. John knew this lifestyle was still relatively new to him yet all too exciting to pass up. He had changed so much from the past few months he would probably be unrecognisable to those who had known him longest. At four am they headed back to his flat, and in such a drunken state John could feel the buzz in his veins which conveyed all he knew to what came next. As soon as they had entered his apartment Clara lunged at him, pinning him against the wall. Her lips met his with that same passionate quality he just couldn't resist. She knew exactly how to play him, by all manner of speaking. Her hands travelled instinctively to his belt which she hastily unbuckled. He smirked, watching her with flirtatious eyes.

'You are impatient tonight.'

She pressed flush against him, and whispered into his ear where her words more than satisfied him.

'Celebratory shag.' She explained, and he smiled.

'Can't argue with that.'

She caressed his stomach, his arms, everywhere with that heavenly touch that enlightened his senses. He unzipped her dress, she pulled down his trousers, almost sliding to the floor in the overwhelming pleasure she brought him. Yet thankfully he stayed up straight, and his erection craved to be inside her. He thrust forward enthusiastically, yet she withdrew teasingly. Instead she grasped his hard member, watching him close his eyes as she slid her hand up and down his length at increasing speed. He moaned, which pleased her, and she finally allowed him entrance. He frustratingly but relievedly entered her in one swift movement, pounding against her in ways that made even Clara exclaim in ecstasy. He buried deeper until his orgasm hit in a sudden wave of bliss in unison with Clara. A sloppy kiss followed and she tangled herself up in him, and with a grin he knew that wasn't everything highlighting the night. He took her hand and as soon as they hit his bedroom door they were at it again. Life was sweet.

•••••

He watched her walk to the bathroom, his shirt undone on her so he could see her bra underneath. He was so incredibly lucky, to have someone like Clara around, to laugh with, to get high with, to talk with, to rendezvous with. After a minute he followed her into the bathroom, kissing her as the shower started running. He began to take off her clothes for her, and wasted no time to undress himself. She was just too damn perfect, too irresistible. He was getting at least two times a week with her in bed (or wherever else they decided to do it) and he couldn't help feeling a foreboding that it was too good to be true. After all, sleeping with an amazing women and getting his book published was all he ever wanted in life and now he had those things he wondered if there was a catch to it all. As dangerous Clara was to herself he knew she wouldn't go as far as to hurt him by going rogue and unstoppably reckless. Would she? Did she care that much for him that she would abandon her own lifestyle for his concerns? Of course not. But it didn't stop him stepping into the shower with her and clashing lips like he had grown accustomed to by her own teachings. His mind was still swirling with questions, even as she bit down on his lip and took off his trousers. But then a familiar and particularly annoying sound disrupted them, and he apologised to her as he grabbed a towel and picked up the phone.

'Hey, John. Hope I wasn't interrupting anything?'

He couldn't help get a little frustrated at the precise time of his call, yet told him he wasn't interrupting anything. It was Andrew, from the publishing house. As he slowly put down the phone in amazement, Clara walked out of the bathroom and toward him.

'It will be published in the next year.' He told her, a trace of surprise in his voice.

'That's brilliant.'

'Hey, why didn't you wait for me?' He asked, staring at the towels wrapped round her body and head.

'I'm not fucking waiting for anybody. You were the one who left.'

'Alright then, fine. But I do want to wish you a happy birthday.' He said, raising his eyebrows at her.

She grimaced, turning away from him.

'Let's not get into that bullshit. How did you even know?'

'Oh come on, really? It slipped out while you were drunk last night.'

'Ugh.'

'You are now the golden age of 30, join the club.'

She rubbed her head, trying to comprehend how old she was.

'I never wanted to be 30. I know I said I didn't technically count in age, but the years have just gone so quick. Before I know it I'll be 50 with a husband and kids. Ugh, I'm not doing any of that, not growing older.'

He felt skeptical the comment about her dislike toward a domestic life of husbands and kids was directed personally at him, but that was clearly impossible.

'Hey, it's okay, being 30 isn't that bad. Sure, you're not 20 and not what you used to be, but you can still party til morning.'

'And then I get to 40, and my body will refuse all of the parties and wild nights out and alcohol and smoking and sex. I won't be the same. I'll be boring. I'll be ordinary. I'll be normal like you.'

He wasn't going to pretend, he was a little hurt at that. He was perfectly normal when he met her. Now he felt like he was part of her exciting life. Unfortunately, he didn't quite know how to counter her argument. Everything she said was true, after all, and he didn't want to delve into the subject of death. It gave him too many bad memories from her last accident and to what she could easily achieve if she was left on her own.

'I don't want to talk about that. Let us just celebrate your birthday. I can take you somewhere if you want-'

'But it's nothing. It's just a birthday, like everyone else. It's only the date of my birth, it isn't special.'

'It IS special, because today was the day you were born, and you wouldn't be here right now if that day wasn't special.'

'Why am I here?' She asked, 'I've done too much, too many things you don't even know about, John. I've done bad things, I still do them. I'm never going to be young again.'

He swallowed. All the ominous talk about bad things was putting a lump in his throat. He was glad she didn't elaborate.

'You are still young. And you are here because you are needed. Every person is needed in someone else's life. You know I care a lot about you. And I don't care what you've done or still do. Clara, let's just write this off, let me do something for you on your birthday. I don't want to argue with you.'

She looked almost guiltily at the ground.

'Okay.' She said, only softly.

'What do you want to do, then?'

She shrugged. Take me out again, to my place. I need some more weed to make me forget about all this crap. Tonight...John,' she looked into his eyes, troubled, 'don't give me sex; just this once, do this for me. Make love to me.' She said, and he couldn't quite construct an answer to respond. He knew what she wanted. For once, she just wanted to feel love. She wanted someone to give her something loving and intimate, not just sex. John was positive this was almost like a confession, but kept quiet as Clara pulled him toward her and kissed him softly. For the proper first time he was able to savour the taste of her lips, add pressure, feel their texture, the skin under his fingers as he caressed her cheek, the way their faces melded together so well they fit like puzzle pieces.

'Clara.' He pulled away, finally asking the pent up question he had been waiting an answer for. 'I know you don't like labels, I know you hate the whole relationship thing, but...am I your boyfriend?'

She shook her head. 'I knew it would come down to this. You being my boyfriend...I cringe. That word makes me feel like I'm back at fucking high school. I am never referring to you as my boyfriend, John, just so you know, neither to myself as your girlfriend. But, I guess in a way, you kind of have to be. You kind of are.'

'Kind of?'

'You are.' She confirmed, nodding her head, 'you are my boyfriend. But you call yourself that and I will strangle you, okay?'

He laughed. 'Alright then. You have a deal.'

She laughed in return, pulling him closer so he was now on top of her.

'I never imagined you'd grow on me.' She said.

'I never imagined I'd even get a chance with someone like you.'

'Don't expect me to get all romantic with you, I'm not getting into any of that shit.'

'Don't worry, I won't expect you to.'

'Good. You can go start by making me some breakfast.'

He smiled, and she kissed him chastely as he got up.

'Of course.'

As he made his way to the kitchen, Clara called to him.

'Oh, and don't you dare tell anyone it's my birthday. Or that you're my fucking 'boyfriend'.'

He smiled, feeling like he was in a weird dream where all of his dreams actually came true.

'Definitely not.'


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

He opened the door, striding into the counter to put his shopping down. Clara was concentrating on another huge, life size canvas and was once again depicting a scene of horrifying gore. He smiled as she turned round, kissing her quickly and observing the painting.

'That really is...' He laughed, 'gruesome.'

'Good, just the reaction I wanted.'

'Yeah, it's terrifying. It would give any person a nightmare.'

'That's the point.'

She turned facing him, pulling him closer to her so her face was just inches from his. Her arms slowly circled his waist and an easy smile toyed on his lips. Clara had been noticeably much more comfortable and even closer to him. He could tell there was a flicker of warmth growing inside slowly breaking through her wall of independence and solidity. She was almost turning into a proper girlfriend. He guessed he had influenced her as much as she had influenced him.

'Did you get the cigarettes?'

'Yep.'

'Brilliant. I need some, light me up.'

'Not yet.'

'Why?'

'Because I need to tell you that I'm taking you on holiday.'

'What? Why?'

'Cause I haven't been on holiday since I was 24 and I don't want to go alone.'

'When are we going?'

'Next month?'

'That sounds perfect.'

'It will be, hopefully.'

He kissed her forehead, and her arms slowly untangled themselves. He headed toward the kitchen, starting on making lunch.

'Oh, and I'll have to get to the bar early tonight, less staff or something.'

'That's alright, I'll meet you there.' She called, beginning to spray paint.

The last few months they had been sleeping in each other's beds, sometimes round his and sometimes round hers. It was a laid back system, unserious and completely unofficial. They never spoke about relationships or boyfriends, maybe just acted like they were. Clara's friends had twigged there was at least something going on between them, yet she said nothing to either deny or confirm it. They had caught them kissing at the back of the club where they had thought they were unseeable. There was one thing however, that was definitely for sure; he cared a lot about Clara. He never showed it, but it was always there. Neither did Clara, but he felt proud that she had finally softened toward him and actually started acting normal for once. And he couldn't wait to take her away on holiday. It was exactly what they both needed.

The next month, they were in a hotel room, tangled up in the sheets and in a foreign country. He woke up to the lack of body warmth and realised Clara wasn't there. He knocked onto her door, calling her name. She responded only after the third time, and he waited until she came through the door.

'You alright?'

She gave him that smile that made his heart pounded.

'I'm amazing.'

'Where are we going today?'

'Sightseeing? Markets? We can go out to dinner if you want.'

'Good.'

'What were you doing in there?'

'Smoking.'

'No you weren't.'

'Yes, I was!' She retorted, seeming angry now.

'You wouldn't look so distracted.'

'God, why are you so fucking annoying! You know everything, don't you?'

'I'm a writer, it's my job, I told you.'

'The fucking writing, isn't it! Always the stupid writing.'

He walked in, searching through her bag that was left on the floor. What he saw disbelieved him.

'Cocaine?!' He called, coming back out to face her.

'Why are you taking cocaine? You never told me about this!'

'I don't have to tell you everything.'

'How the hell did you smuggle this through the airport?!'

'Didn't. Bought it here, I was running low.'

'From where?' He asked incredulously.

'I know people from here.'

'You know everyone from everywhere. You can't even take coke in this country!'

'You can't take it in any country, John.'

'I just wish you had told me about this.' He gasped, looking at her with those disappointed eyes.

'What did I tell you in that pub? Most people would disapprove of me and what I do. I warned you. You never listen.'

'Clara, you're better than this,' he told her, taking her arms and staring at her, while she averted his eyes.

'I'm not better. I never was, I've always been like this. You've only seen one side of me.'

'What else have you done I don't know about? Theft? Murder?'

She didn't retaliate, didn't meet his hard gaze.

'No. You didn't. You didn't, Clara.' When she didn't say anything, his worst fears came true, conveyed in his face, felt deep down inside him, extreme letdown, the realisation that he had befriended someone as dangerous as this, the fact he had been influenced and encouraged into things he never imagined he'd be doing in any lifetime.

'You-have you murdered-'

'I haven't, but it felt like I did.'

'What do you mean?' His voice was now full of concern as it always did at her tone of voice. He cursed himself for it. He could be feeling sympathy for a murderer.

'My sister, Amy. She...she died ten years ago, and it was my fault. See John, I didn't have the bloody courage to stop the people that attacked her. They were drugged up, I think, but murderers and rapists. They attacked her, and all I did was stand and watch. I watched those bastards toy with her and kill her.' Her voice was now dripping with revenge and anger, her whole body was shaking, and he couldn't help but reach out to her.

'I toughened myself up. I made better, stronger friends. I was never afraid of it happening, because I could protect myself.' She stared up at him as he watched her with shock, and her hand swept aside the hair hanging into his eyes. 'And the people I care about.'

'Clara, you're not a murderer-'

'I am. I could have done anything, but stand aside and watch. I killed my innocence.'

He didn't know what to say. He knew better than to comfort her, but all he could think of was young Clara, watching that brutal murder and turning into a ruthless drug dealer that slept with any man that came her way because of it. It was relief, it was all so she could forget that one event in time that would remain unchanged forever. It broke him inside.

'Why the hell didn't you tell me? You can tell me anything, you should know.'

'And have you flip out at me the next time I decide to take a more colourful drug, as you say? You've taken weed before John, each drug is as bad as each other.'

He felt like he had been put to shame, and he knew his reaction had maybe been a little too over the top. But he knew why he had done it.

'I care too much about you. I don't want you killing yourself, getting carried away. I want you exactly how you are, without those risks.'

'Those risks are my life and if you can't put up with that you might as well pack up, leave, and never speak to me again.'

'I can't do that. Just promise me, Clara, that you won't do cocaine. Please, don't do that. I know your past experiences have scarred you, but I'm not letting you do this, and definitely not letting you get in trouble for it in a different country. Get rid of it, now.'

'No, John. No, I'm not.'

'Why are you so difficult to control?' He shouted, standing up from the bed in his rage.

'Because no one controls me! I am not changing for you, not one second!' She yelled back at him, her temper enflaming his.

'Clara, I don't want to argue with you! It's the last thing I want. I just want to take care of you!'

'No one takes care of me. I take care of myself!'

'I know it's always been like that for you, but it doesn't have to be that way. Throw all of it away, forget this ever happened, carry on like it was nothing. All I want is to enjoy this holiday, with you.'

'I do too, but you've made it impossible.'

'I hate arguing with you, come on, Clara. Just...just throw this packet away, we can talk about it once we're back home.' He was touching her now, thumbs circling up and down her arms so she couldn't resist.

'I hate talking.' She muttered.

'I know,' he said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, 'but I'm not giving up on you. I'm not going to lose you.'

He kissed her lips softly, wrapping her up in a hug. He closed his eyes, trying to make sense of how complicated he felt and his undeniable empathetic feelings for Clara. He didn't want to let go, yet when he withdrew she turned emotionless, and walked away from him. The door closed behind him, and his head dropped. Clara was too much for him. Her whole life was too much for him.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

When they finally touched down he felt something almost ominous in the air. It was probably because they were back in rainy London, leaving behind the sun and shades. He reflected back on the holiday, and apart from their argument, it was exactly how he envisioned it. He couldn't shake the sight of Clara in a bikini, with shades and hair parting perfectly. It had definitely been relaxing, which had been exactly what he wanted. He had thought Clara's sour mood would affect their holiday since he found her cocaine, but thankfully she had returned to normal by night, and they laughed the evening away. She walked beside him, looking as tired as he felt. It had been a long flight, even with sleeping on the plane itself. He smiled at the position he had found himself in, when Clara's head had rested against his chest and her small frame had been curled up into a ball on the seat. It had taken a little longer to get him back to sleep that night however, worrying still for her drug addiction, wondering if there was any way he could stop her from doing the things he was doing. He had thrown away the white powder, and despite Clara's disapproval, he would keep an eye out for another occurrence like this. They made way to a cab and Clara resumed that same position to try her more sleep. An arm enclosed round her and he stared down at that beautiful face, calmer in sleep yet a crease between her eyes indicated a sign of worry or fear. He hugged her closer to his guest, resting his cheek upon her head, hoping beyond hell she wouldn't kill herself from her stupid, rogue ways. Clara had strode into his life and stamped on it's boring, drab pages and turned them into an interesting adventure, full of colour, full of life. Since he had met her he had started smoking, drinking even more alcohol, learned to ride a motorbike and had even shamelessly tried marijuana. He felt so rebellious, so much more human. But he couldn't let it all get to his head, nor Clara's. He gently shook her awake when they had stopped outside his flat. She smiled warmly and gratefully at him, and once inside she dropped to the sofa. He ordered pizza and lay there together, watching movie after movie until he carried her to bed.

•••

The phone started ringing as soon as he started dinner, and he heard Clara's voice over the other end. She had wanted another night out, but John wasn't feeling too well.

'You okay?' He asked by default, admonishing himself for being so instantly worried.

'John, this wasn't my fault.'

'What? What do you mean, what have you done?' His tone changed serious and brittle.

'Don't get mad. How much money have you got?'

'Money? What, have you you run out of fags or something?' He laughed nervously, hoping anxiously it was something as silly as that.

'Can you come bail me out?'

'What?!'

'You know, jail.'

'Why the fuck are you in jail? What have you done?'

'We didn't see the policeman coming it was just- I have to go, just get your arse here, there's a creepy man next to my cell who's weird as fuck. I'll see you then.'

And then she hang up, and he was left standing there bewilderedly with a dishcloth in his hand and the burgers still sizzling away contently in the pan. He sighed, cursing colourfully as he switched the hob off and put on his tweed jacket. He felt like her dad, not her alleged 'boyfriend'. He raced down to the bike and drove to the nearest prison he could think of. One look of the foreboding, darkened building with its wired gates made him swallow nervously. He took off the helmet and sat there a moment, an expression of agitation in his face and a hand coming up to run through his hair uneasily. He was slowly admitted to the prison and after the money had drained his account dry, he was reunited with Clara, who seemed mostly unshaken and careless of the fact she had been arrested. He couldn't help his heart sigh relievedly when he saw her again, but there was no denying he was extremely angry.

'Hey.'

'They just took hundreds of pounds from my account just so I could get you back and the first thing you say to me is 'hey'. Not even an apology. I didn't have to rush up here, you know, I could have let you stay here a night or two, a part of me wishes I had. But I'm here now, and you've been released, and now I demanded an explanation.'

For once she didn't argue, and as they walked slowly out, she begun talking.

'We were just having fun, when an officer came along and fucked everything up. Didn't even know policeman came down that way. We'd obviously had a few drinks, and we headed out to that deserted area behind the pub and Mike started to graffiti the walls. He's really good, by the way. But he came along just as I was having my turn spray painting, and it didn't really help that I was smoking weed while doing it either. It's fine though, I've been in prison a few times before, I know all the jail guards. And I've never spent anything more than a few nights there.'

'I can't believe you.' He said, throwing his keys into the air and climbing onto the bike. 'Why do you stuff like this? Is this all I am to you? Someone to get high with, to take you places and bail you out of jail? I'm sorry, but I'm not wasting money again releasing you from prison the next time you do something stupid.'

He knew he was being insincere with himself, he would always want Clara beside him from now on and couldn't imagine life without her, much like the hazy memories of his life before she had happened. He felt her hands draw round his waist, and although he was supposed to be furious with her, he loved her lingering touch.

'Why are you do impossible?' He sighed, not wanting to drive yet.

'Because I'm the impossible girl.' She replied silkily, and with a kick to the ground he sped off, feeling even more apprehensive than ever before, and this even Clara's touch couldn't reassure.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Since her prison escapade, he had felt like he was responsible for what she did, like he was her carer. Clara had admittedly tried to please him but he hadn't forgotten. At least he had a job and a published book on the way. It was the only thing sustaining his despair at his now empty bank account. The worst part was that he allowed himself to forgive her at times she came close to him. It was like a mind trick, some hypnosis or spell he was under as soon as she wrapped arms round his waist and flattered him with that smile. From a distance he was still mad but it only took a measly two months to hold a grudge. The assuage slowly faded away to normal, and Clara was on her best behaviour. They slowly got back into the routine of going out together again at night with all their friends and waking up drunk. He made sure Clara wasn't drugging herself up with any more substances and he was able to enjoy the time they spent together. He was surprised how many times they had sex each week, Clara drawing him in effortlessly. Sometimes he did really wonder how she felt about him, as she never said anything of the sort to him. Occasionally he would slip in something affectionate but she'd only smile or slap him playfully. There was a side to her that glimpsed through, only rarely, but still recognisable. In one of those sensitive and sentimental moments, he saw a more romantic and domestic person like, less amorous and more loving. It would appear for a second, behind her doting smile or her infrequent yet surprising looks of adoration.

He drummed his fingers impatiently as he waited for Clara to come back. She had pushed the limits too much that for the first time he had known her, she had been sick. From illness or alcohol, he didn't know. He even had to admit he was becoming more immune to sickness from drinking as Clara had. Maybe it wasn't the drinks, maybe it really was an illness. She slipped out in short pyjamas and a look of disgust on her face. She was paler than usual, and her nose was red. Her eyes were darker and she looked extremely worn out. It was definitely illness.

'Come on, babe.' He folded her into a hug and then carried her like a child to bed, and she didn't protest. He laid her down like she was valuable china, crawling in and soothing her best he could.

'It'll pass, Clara. I promise.' He told her, kissing her forehead gently.

'I hate feeling so weak.' She mumbled.

'I know you do. But it's okay to feel weak and breakable and fearful. Remember that, Clara,' he took her face in his hands so her eyes were boring into his, 'remember that it is okay to want to be protected or cared for. That it doesn't lessen you as a person.'

He wanted his words to sink in, he wanted to remind her that she was just as human as he was, and that it was fine to be dependant on someone.

'Do you want any dinner?' He asked softly. She shook her head, and he could feel the heat of her cheek against his stomach.

'I need to get better.'

'It's okay, I've got you.' He said, sitting her up. 'You'll get better in a few days.' She huffed frustratedly.

'I just want to feel like myself again. I feel so lousy and boring.'

'I know.'

He stroked her arm, his head leant against hers and his eyes wandered to a fixed spot and held his gaze there. Even in illness she wanted to be more colourful than everyone else. John loved the feeling of her in his arms, as he cradled her simply and she dozed off in the crook of his neck. Sometimes he felt that there were too many things going on around them, too many accidents or illnesses or problems. Keeping up with Clara Oswald was like trying to chase a butterfly and catch it in bare hands. But he loved her too much to give up the chase.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Her hand clutched his tightly, as he held the package gingerly and a nervous smile twitched at his features. Clara was watching him intently. Her whole body leaned against his and offered him the comfort he needed. Slowly and carefully he unwrapped it, a decent sized hardback with pages newly printed and a bright blue cover. He swept his hands over it, rubbing the spine and the ends of the book like a lucky charm and thumbing the pressed pages softly. The name 'Doctor' boomed out at him in small block lettering and hazed his vision, a shameless tear rolling down his cheek before he could stop it and Clara laughed at him adoringly, wiping it away for him. He didn't know why he was being so sensitive about it, he guessed that after all the years of trying it had finally happened. His fantasy book, about a time-travelling alien and his companion was now released to the world for anyone to read. Clara embraced his shoulder, squeezing him tighter with a smile on her face. It was everything he could have wanted, and more. Each uncontrollable tear lapsed onto the cover, and it was all too overwhelming at once. Emotion and pride burst inside him like fireworks.

'Hey, you don't want to ruin your book, now, do you?' She chuckled, and he let his head fall to her shoulder.

'I can't believe it's actually right here, in my hands. I never thought I'd get this far.'

'You know what this means.' She said.

'Club, pub and sex.'

'Story of our lives.'

He liked the way she said 'our lives', like they were intertwined with each other's, his life was hers and her life was his. He felt his hair being ruffled and his stare at the book in his hands never faltered. She kissed his forehead, and walked toward the bedroom, leaving him there on his own to process the overloading thoughts whizzing inside his head. As he turned toward Clara's figure just visible behind the bedroom door he grinned, his heart pounding. He was sure it was impossible for this day to get any better.

•••

'You bloody know I don't do weddings, John.' She told him threateningly. When Clara was at the turning point of annoyed to angry it was the stage he worst feared. She could erupt and hit him almost literally like a volcano or storm out to calm her temper with a cigarette. He was hoping for neither, but as his face pleaded before her he made a mental note to step out of the way if she really lost it. Clara was the feistiest, toughest, and stubborn person he had ever met, and yet it still didn't change his perfect and fascinated view of her. He had more or less been living around with Clara for nearly two years now, and in that time he had never turned to any other woman, even when she was too much to handle. Even when she did things he didn't approve of, he wouldn't change their time together for the universe. His love had been growing inside him since the day they had first met but he knew Clara would hardly ever admit feelings for him. Which was okay, because he knew they were there, and he respected the fact she didn't like saying 'I love you' or any other cheesy crap. Of course they acted like a couple, there was no doubt about that, and over the years he had even settled her into her own version of a domestic life. Which usually consisted of bossing him around with the shopping and picking out his clothes for him. And his heart always raced whenever she made any of those simplistic, little decisions because it made him feel like he really had found a life with her that was more than what they had had a year ago.

The only fault they had of their relationship was that they couldn't agree on most things. They were too extraordinarily different, even when John had precariously decided to follow her type of lifestyle. But then again, as a writer's view, opposites attract.

'Please, Clara, I need to go to this wedding. It's my friend Rory's wedding, and I am best man, after all.'

He followed her round like a puppy as she walked.

'Go alone, then.'

'I don't want to do that.'

'I told you I'm not going.'

'Clara,' he turned her arm around so she faced him, 'please come with me. There will still be alcohol and everything, I just want you there with me.'

'So you can show me off to your friends like some posh, boastful twat? No thanks.'

'No, Clara! No, I'd never do that. If anything, it would be you showing me off. I want you there because you're everything to me and I can never do these things without you. Please.'

Upon hearing his words she slowly began to smile. While she didn't like saying all the romantic stuff, he at least got her to tolerate it. And something told him that she liked it coming from him, if only a little bit.

'Fine, but you're paying for all the drinks.'

He laughed triumphantly and kissed her. It was one of those rare moments where he could actually persuade her.

'I just have one condition.' She told him, arms round his neck and swaying slightly like they were already on the dance floor. 'When we get back home tonight you're getting pissed with me.'

He thought about it mockingly, just to keep her on her toes (literally, when she was that small).

'Done. You need to find a dress.'

'I already have plenty I could wear. You are the one needing to find a tux.'

'I've got one already.'

'Oh, really?' She raised her eyebrows. 'Let's see it on then.'

He grinned at her, and he turned toward their bedroom. Clara smacked his arse cheekily and laughed. John couldn't hide the smile.

••••

Clara stepped out as he was adjusting the cuffs of his shirt, and as he looked up he gulped.

'You look stunning.' He told her, taking her hand. She really did look a delight in that dress, and John wanted so much just to stay at home now. He decided not to voice this aloud.

'You look pretty dapper yourself.' She replied, raising her eyebrows and tweaking his black bowtie.

'Are you ready to go?'

'I guess.'

She took hold of his arm until they were at the motorbike, Clara driving to the nearby church and John fretting about their lateness. With Clara's notoriously speedy driving they had just made it, and John stood beside Rory, giving him an encouraging pat on the shoulder. He could tell he was nervous. But he knew all too well any man would be if they were marrying Amy Pond. She was almost as feisty as Clara. He was wondering if Clara and Amy would get on when she suddenly arrived through the doors and the music started playing. Amy walked almost impatiently down the aisle to get to her fiancé and he could see the tears gathering in the man's eyes. Rory had always been a sensitive one. She looked beautiful in her dress too, and he glanced over at Clara, who was also watching Amy intensely. He could only imagine how breathtaking she would look in a wedding dress. Unfortunately, he knew it would never happen. Once the whole wedding was over and Amy and Rory were officially married, they posed for group photos outside the church and he couldn't resist catching Clara off guard by kissing her in one of them. By night they had the disco up and running and the drinks flowing, which was good in Clara's case. With each drink he got her she seemed to enjoy herself more, and as they sat at the table together they rambled on to each other while the music played heavily into their ears. Amy and Rory soon came to join them and John was massively pleased and relieved to see that both Clara and Amy were getting on extremely well. While the ladies were chatting, Rory and John headed to the dance floor.

'I'm really happy for you. Amy's great. I knew you had a crush on her since the day you met.'

'Thanks. I get the feeling we'll settle down happily, if she doesn't start up a fight too soon. You know how unpredictable Amy is.'

He laughed. 'Yeah, I do.'

'You've got to tell me, Doctor, since you haven't hardly said a word about Clara. How did you meet?'

'In a pub.'

'Is she just your date or are you a couple-'

'Couple.' He nodded. 'Although don't say that to her, she'll bite my head off.'

'Ah, she's one of them, like Amy. Bossy and uncontrollable.'

'Pretty much.' He sipped at his glass, and they both looked at their women talking together with fond smiles.

'Are you living together?'

'Yeah. I sold my apartment to live with her around four months ago. It was a lot easier. I still pay my share though.'

'That's why I haven't seen you for so long, cause you've gotten caught up in her.'

'Yeah. She's hard to let go of.'

'But I see you've started smoking.'

'Habit I picked up. Clara's very influential.'

They turned to observe the two of them at the table again, and Rory asked the daunting question.

'Do you love her?'

He stared a long while at Clara before answering, and he knew just by the look of her face, her smile, the way she sat, cross-legged and her elbow resting atop the table.

'Yes.' He confirmed, his eyes glowing as he observed her.

'When are you getting married then?'

John turned to look at him in alarm and Rory almost laughed at his expression.

'When are you gonna ask her? You obviously love her, I don't see why you've been putting it off.'

'I'm not sure about it, and I'm definitely not sure about marrying Clara. For one thing, she probably wouldn't even turn up to her own wedding.'

John swigged the rest of his drink to disguise the itching in his throat, telling him how much he would want to. It was true that John had always wanted a proper family, not just a stable job. He had wanted all the domestics in life, a wife and kids to come home to like any other normal person would. He remembered vaguely he'd told that to Rory when he had still been single, so the question wasn't as surprising as he first thought.

'You should ask her, Doctor. Just by seeing you two tonight I know you've found the right person.'

He didn't know what had come over him but his next question had slipped out uncontrollably.

'How would I ask her? What should I do?'

Rory clapped him on the back and gave him an easy smile. John was too stunned by his want of knowledge on the subject he couldn't react.

'You ask it somewhere romantic. Take her to a really nice restaurant, or a beach is actually really popular for proposals. Just think of somewhere she'd remember getting engaged.'

John wasn't sure a restaurant, beach or any other romantic setting would suit her. The only places he could think of was the bar he worked at, the pub they had met, or the club they had first kissed properly, more or less. But he couldn't see himself proposing in that atmosphere.

'I'm not really sure she'd appreciate all the lovey kind of stuff. Plus, I'd have to write a paragraph to explain why we should get married to try persuade her.'

'Well,' he continued, 'how about a simple dinner at home, where you could easily pop the question. As you cook nearly every day for her she won't think much of it until you ask her. That way you have time to discuss it and it's not overly romantic, if that's what she wants.'

He knew as soon as he had said it that it was the only way he could ever ask her, yet his heart crawled with sudden nerves.

'I think I may actually have to get her drunk first before I ask.' He said.

But as the image stuck in his mind, he really could envision them lying on the sofa together watching a movie, and him slowly asking her the was as close as he'd ever come to perfect. Although he wasn't sure he would actually do it.

'Don't do it tonight, Doctor, it would overwhelm her a bit. But try and ask her at some point, because I know deep down that you want to.'

He couldn't deny that even after a year of hardly seeing him, Rory knew him extremely well. As they made their way back to the table the very notion of seeing Clara in a long white dress brought on the nerves he had feared. Now that Rory had brought it up he knew he would hardly be able to think. He smiled at both of them, and saw the pile of bottles on the table which made him laugh. Rory was now talking avidly to Amy and John took his seat beside Clara, where they joked about how much she had drunk already. He could see Rory pointing to Amy at his hand that rested on Clara's thigh and he quickly withdrew it to ruffle his hair. He didn't want to embarrass himself if Amy and Rory started to talk about certain wedding things in front of Clara. Finally, the bride and groom took to the floor and everyone cheered as they watched them. He looked down to see Clara's hand locked with his and he smiled warmly at her. The only times she really would hold his hand was if they were at home, or sometimes out shopping, and even then they were rare cases. A fast, upbeat song came on next, to which John danced ridiculously. Clara laughed at his waving hands and soon they were properly dancing. John knew hardly anything about it, but he swore they were doing their own version of a jive. Clara seemed to be enjoying herself more than he ever thought she would and it gave him the confidence to reassure himself that asking couldn't hurt. The next song was very slow and most couples started dancing with each other. Clara put her arms around his neck and he held her tight as they swayed to the music. He was beginning to wonder if Clara had ever realised that she would be an exceptional romantic if she wanted to. He could see Amy and Rory dancing in a similar way but looking over at them, grinning. He tried to block out their stares.

'I didn't think you'd get up and dance.' He whispered, as he pulled her in closer to him. Her face was inches from his and the illuminated lights swept over her face so she lit up right there in his arms.

'Full of surprises, aren't I?'

'Definitely. Although I do feel quite romantic. I think the setting has gotten to me.'

She smiled. 'Don't worry, I'm feeling it too.'

He raised his eyebrows shockingly.

'Clara Oswald, feeling romantic? There's something I thought I'd never see til the day I died.'

'Yeah, I guess it's the atmosphere. I'll deny it all tomorrow.'

'I know you will. That's why I'll keep reminding you.'

'You bastard.'

He chuckled. 'Well, it's a rare phenomenon when I get to see you like this.'

'Shut up.' She ordered, and his head tilted downward to reach her lips and she was kissing him agonisingly slowly, but which caused shivers to run down his spine. They swayed on the spot as he held her against him, revelling in every second longer they kissed until they hadn't even noticed another song had come on. They at last, drew apart, Clara's hands still reaching his shoulders as they turned to see most people watching them. Amy and Rory gave him a raise of eyebrows and a look of smugness. Clara smiled, her eyes looking down to the floor, until she met his eyes again and kissed him once more briefly. They went back to their table, getting more drinks. Clara had already noticed the slight flush of pink in his cheeks. The night drew further on but they didn't dance again, instead talked quietly to each other whole watching the others on the dance floor. At one point Clara had made him laugh so hard he neatly spat out his drink and so begun their own game of observing the dancers and selfishly making comments. It had him in stitches by the end of the night. Clara neared to the back of the crowd as Amy threw her bouquet but it somehow managed to travel further and land perfectly in Clara's hand. Her eyebrows shot up and Amy giggled as he blushed again. He looked at her uneasily as she set the bouquet down on the table but she only shrugged. John could only take it as a sign. At 12 they all gathered outside and watched the fireworks set off into the sky. Clara's head leaned onto his shoulder and his arm hugged her round the waist as they gazed upon the brilliant light, shooting and erupting.

'I love you.' He murmured, as a firework exploded into the sky and caused a chorus of applaud from it's watchers. He wasn't looking at her, and Clara stared up at him, confused.

'What was that? I didn't hear you.'

He shook his head, his vision going slack. Damn the fireworks, damn the people making so much noise. He had actually told her and she hadn't heard because of a bloody firework going off. He knew he'd never be able to tell her again and his confidence slipped. But as he held her and he knew of his feelings anyway, he became calmer. He didn't quite know what it was that made him so at ease, but he wondered if it was Clara so peaceful that made him the same. Usually it would create the opposite effect, but right there they were both sensitive to the night and to their emotions. As the last ray of light burst into colour he kissed her again and a smile formed on his lips. Whatever future held for them, they would always look back on this.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

It was no lie, John's book had taken off more or less successfully, and his astonishment had grown as it had become more popular. He wasn't famous, but he was known, and pictures of him had even snaked it's way into a corner of a newspaper. Nevertheless, he was getting more and more excited about it, and sometimes Clara had to calm him down. However, he often had minor interviews to attend, maybe even the rare event, and Clara was a little fed up of going with him. In her own words she said she didn't like pretending she was a normal, polite woman and it was bad already taking a trip to the city, never mind travelling to the other side of London.

It had been six months since Amy and Rory's wedding, and thankfully they'd actually gotten to see them more often. He still hadn't asked Clara, or brought up the subject. He was too sure with each passing day it wouldn't work. Maybe he was trying to gain more than he was supposed to. He had an actual career and partner for once, where around three years ago he hardly had anything. He guessed he was being the tiniest bit selfish, wanting so much from life when he had gotten his large share anyways. Still, there was always the longing in his heart when he'd just look at her, imagine her as his wife.

He propped his elbow up, staring down at her for a while. She shook her head, and he knew she was yet again wondering how he could look at her so intently and for such a long time. After meeting his eyes she started laughing, pulling up the covers over her head. He countered, pushing them back down so he could see her again. Her hair was now even more messy than it had been and her smile was affecting him, so much so that after months of hesitation, he tried hinting at the topic fresh in his mind.

'Clara, are you sure you'd never get married?'

She chuckled just a little. 'No, of course not. Too old for it now, anyway. Why?'

His heart sunk slightly, but he maintained his confidence. 'You're not too old.'

'I am for me.'

'Not at all. You look as if you were twenty.'

'You're supposed to say that.'

'Why?'

'Because you...you care about me.'

'I'm glad you know that.'

'Well, I haven't been living with you all this time to think that you didn't care for me.'

'I don't just care about you.'

His heart skipped a beat, but she didn't reply. Instead she tilted his head downward to kiss him, and he knew that she was telling him the same in return. He had, in all honesty, had the time of his life while being with her. It was a whirlwind, she was crazy, he was out of his mind. But it worked.

'You still never would?' He asked again. He already regretted it.

'Get married? No.'

She seemed oblivious to what he was trying to say, or she really just didn't want to, and let him down gently. Either way, it was a throb of disappointment in his stomach. He couldn't force her, and maybe marriage wouldn't work for them anyway. It would probably just create more problems and stress them out. After all, it was hard work keeping up with her already.

'Going out for a fag. You coming?'

She leaped out of bed, sensing another wave of questions and therefore diverting them expertly. She threw on a top and shorts and sauntered out. He was left there for a few minutes, thinking dazedly until he joined her. The air was warm, cooling his skin and calming him instantly.

'How long are we gonna be here?' He asked, the silence too stiff.

'In this place? I don't know, maybe we could find something bigger. Then again, I like our apartment.'

He turned toward her, sick of her ignorance.

'Not our apartment, I'm talking about us.'

She stared at his eyes, cigarette paused between her fingers as she fully considered him.

'You know I don't want my future. Not with you, not with anybody. I know that sounds harsh, but it's the truth. I want to die before I stick around any longer than necessary. You know me enough to know this, John, I've told you a hundred times.'

He stared at the ground, inhaling and trying to focus on the concrete beneath his feet.

'I don't like it. I don't like you talking about death. It scares me, Clara, you know that about me as much as I know about you.'

'I don't want this talk again. I'm tired of this talk. I'm tired of everything. I don't latch myself onto anything for long, except you. You know I can't bear sameness.'

'You're tired of everything?'

'You know you're an exception, don't be stupid.'

'I hate arguing.' He whispered, damning himself to the hell below him.

'We're not arguing. We're talking, even though I don't want to.'

'I just feel like every time you're away from me you'll do something bad, commit suicide, I don't know. That's why it's so annoying, that you don't want a future with me. What would be so bad about it?'

'John, stop. Just stop everything, and don't start persuading me because my mind is unchanged in every way. I'm so, so sick of this.'

'I am too! It's too much, honestly Clara. I've given you so much, as you have, but maybe we're just tired of each other.'

He caught a flicker of sadness in her eyes.

'I can agree with that.'

'Clara, maybe we should...look, you've always been ruthless and carefree, moving on and moving on, so fast and so quick I can never keep up with you. I'm just too different, incompatible. I've always wanted a nice, steady life with a family. We can't give each other what the other wants.'

She nodded slowly, dragging and then throwing it to the ground, stomping over it with her foot and stepping closer to him.

'It really has been a pleasure, Clara Oswald.'

'You're saying goodbye.'

'No, I'm not. I'd never say goodbye to you. I'm just suggesting I should move out, maybe just keep our distance for a while. Nothing permanent, and perhaps we could make a better relationship next time.'

'I hate all this movie crap, it's too goddamn dramatic,' she sighed, 'you can't expect me to wait for you, John. I think that was the whole point of your argument.' She said, crossing her arms. He hung his head again, knowing she was right. She was always right.

'What do you wanna do, then?'

'I don't want to do anything. You've grown on me.'

'This isn't just up to you! This is my judgement too, and sometimes I can't handle it.'

'Is this the point the credits roll?'

'This isn't funny, Clara! This isn't funny in any way, it's hard, the hardest thing I've ever had to do.'

'Then why are you doing it?' She asked, her tone raising and sharper.

He looked at her, his face screwed up, but then turning slack.

'I don't know.'

'Maybe just a little separation on would do us...do me good. I don't want to at all, but I have to. I know this is selfish but I've always just wanted to get married, have kids, get a good job.'

'You're not getting any of that out of me.'

'Exactly, and that's why I'm starting to think ending this, whatever we have, is a better idea than carrying on. I don't want to hurt myself, but more importantly, I don't want to hurt you.'

'I don't want your protection and sympathy. Stop acting like you can hurt me so easily, John.'

'What do we have then? What do we possibly have in this relationship?!' He asked, arms wide with hopelessness. His eyes were shining with unshed tears. He was on the tip of the cliff, about to jump off and lose everything forever. Why was his emotions running so high and powerful inside him, why was he engaging her in that same conversation they had already established would be useless brought up again? Why was he doing this to himself?

'Clara, I hate that I'm doing this, and I'm sorry and stupid and should have probably spared myself the pain ages ago, but I'm doing this because I lo-'

'Shh.' Clara looked calmly at him, stepping in between the distance separating them and enclosing his hands in hers.

'I treat you like I would my partner, John. I treat you more than that. Marriage is nothing to me, just a bit of paper. What I do value is the person I would have married if I was normal, and that's you, John, don't you see? You are my husband, there's no doubt about that. Just not legally.'

A moment passed between them, where he just gazed at her, trying to actually comprehend all of her words, jumping out at him like a colourful and disorienting bulletin board. Shock, nothing else, overcame him as he slid his fingers from her grasp to caress her arms.

'Why didn't you ever tell me this?' He whispered.

'I never tell anyone anything. You should know that by now.'

'The whole point was that I didn't think I was worth being your legal husband, because I didn't know you valued me as anything as high as that. Clara, I don't care if I'm your husband legally, I don't care about signing any document of unity, I only care about being someone in your life. Someone exactly like your husband, I just want to be the everything...the everything in your life.'

She smiled, her arms throwing themselves round his neck.

'You are, you stupid fucking idiot. Of course you are, why do you think I'm bloody living with you? Why do you think I haven't had sex with anyone else? Why do you think I've stayed with you for nearly three years? I might move on too quickly, but I'll never move on from you, I'm quite sure of that.'

'Clara, I love-'

She put his fingers to his lips.

'No.' She said, shaking her head. He laughed. Same old Clara Oswald.

'Don't make me admit to anymore confessions, I've had enough just this one time to last me a lifetime.'

'I won't.' He smiled, and leaned down to kiss her, and she was wrapped up in his arms unlike any other way, so warm and loving and eternal. He could feel the sunshine light up both of their smiles as they kissed each other, so thoroughly, so carefully. Filled with love this time, tongues gently brushing, entwining, their lips caressing and colliding and never parting for a second. Locked within each other, John could sense people watching them as they passed, only fully realising in that moment that they were outside their apartment. It didn't falter him though, if anything it made him kiss her more intensively. His hands anchored in her hair, holding her tenaciously while her lips fell to his neck before she finally unattached herself from his reluctant grasp.

'Why do we do this to ourselves?' He laughed incredulously.

'I don't know. But you do know that I won't give you any kids, right? It was one of the things you wanted that I won't give you.'

'Let me see about that.'

He kissed her again, only fleetingly, but it was enough for his mind to make up that one and only decision. He wanted Clara, he loved Clara, and having kids wouldn't lessen his love for her in any way. As long as he had her.

'It wouldn't matter if it meant keeping you forever, as my illegal wife.'

She giggled, playing with his fingers.

'We're anything but legal, so it kind of fits, in a way.'

'You know, I thought I wanted a proper wedding with you in a dress and me in a suit, but hearing that from you was enough. It was more than enough.'

'You do know that you won't keep me forever, though, don't you, John?'

He sighed, but finally agreed. 'Yes.'

'But you know I like to live in the moment, so you can get your arse back inside and cook me some breakfast.'

'Followed by takeaway dinner and a movie?'

'You got it, clever boy.'

He grinned, running up the stairs back to their apartment, Clara chasing him.

All thoughts were banished as her arms caught him round the waist from behind, and they ended up on the floor, laughing and rolling around like kids.

'You're so amazingly annoying, Clara Oswald.'

'I can happily say the same for you too, John Smith.'

They lay on the sofa together a few hours later, Clara half on top of him, their heads together and her legs sprawled over his. Their hands were clasped together and he was stroking her ring finger as they watched their favourite movie. A discarded and empty pizza box was on the floor, what seemed like a hundred cans were littered everywhere and John had that same, sleepy feeling whenever they did this. Relax, drink and slowly drift off together. His thoughts lead him to the most peaceful of places and a soft, hair-raising tune filled his ears. It could have been Clara humming it, or his own imagination, but he decided to call it 'Clara's Theme.' It was a good title for a book, he thought, and then his vision went blank. The only dreams he had were of his Clara, ongoing in his mind, and lasting for what he knew would be an infinity.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

John was nervous; everyone now knew who he was. They were demanding interviews, speeches, launches, and with a nearly finished sequel in the works on top of all of that he was feeling exhausted. He had to admit that everything was beyond him entirely. He had never imagined his book would become such an internationally known novel, not within the deepest desires of his heart. It was more than he had ever asked for. But it was limiting the amount of time he spent with Clara, which was unbearably painful. He hated to be apart from her, and it was only rare occasions, when the hotels were nice and she fancied it, that they would fly away to other countries together, as he was frequently called to various parts of the world. It was exciting and amazing and an experience like no other, but only with Clara was it so memorable. In the last year only he had seen North Africa, Australia, Russia, Sourhern Asia and numerous to different States in America. Clara had accompanied him on only three of those expeditions as she was such a home-bound person, as well as not being able to drug herself up occasionally was causing complications. He had never seriously realised just how much of an addict she was, and although he did the same it meant more for her than it did for him. Whenever he watched her do it he would always know she was thinking about her sister, Amy. It was only then he realised they both had an Amy they had lost. John had in fact lived with Amy for a time until she met Rory, and to be completely honest he was glad. Clara was the only one. She never brought the subject of her death up, and John never persisted her; he knew what loss meant and how it could hurt. The only other reason was that as his fame grew, more and more people would snoop about his life and finally find Clara out about the drugs. They were getting recognised on the streets of London too, which frustrated both of them to no end. John wasn't being selfish or gluttonous; he just wanted a little bit more time to spend and less fame. Ultimately, however, he was enjoying every bit of it, every journey and country and interview and fan that happened to come his way, which he was extremely grateful for.

John was packing that very second, Clara beside him, bossing him around like always. Their bedroom was bare and everything was in boxes, as they would soon be moving out, what with John's income affording them to get something much bigger. He knew Clara didn't like the decision and it had taken a lot of further persuasion, but it was for the best. She was slowly easing into the life he had always wanted, minus the kids and legal marriage. And he was starting to understand her better and more completely than he first had and still let her take full control. It was like a compromise.

'Where are you going next, again?' She asked.

'Uh, South Africa this time. Will you come with me to the Canada trip?' He pleaded, his eyes trying to influence her to no avail.

'I'll let you know when you come back.'

He watched her for a moment.

'I'll miss you, Clara Oswald.'

'Hey, don't start all that again.'

'What? I miss you every single time.'

'I know.'

'Come on, just say it for me.' He smiled, stepping closer to her.

She had that endearingly embarrassing look on her face that told him she was cringing from saying it. Still smiling at her dazzlingly she had to give up, just by the look of his face.

'I'll, um, I'll miss you too.'

'Wasn't so hard, was it?'

'For me, it is.'

'Ah, I know. It's a rare triumph when I hear it, though.'

He finally finished packing, and smiled at her weakly. He was terrible at goodbyes.

'I just wish sometimes that I wasn't as well-known as I am.'

'No, you deserve it, all of it, John.'

'But do you mind that we hardly get any privacy? That I have to fly away somewhere else? Being recognised?'

'I don't really care. I have my drink and my friends and the clubs and stuff, I'm fine.'

'You've always been so tough and strong, haven't you? I don't think anyone can match it.' He said.

'Nope.' She replied proudly.

He walked slowly toward the door, every step weighting him down further. He turned to study her face again like he always did, and that pain lit up his chest again. He had always been with Clara, had hardly left her side. Now he was leaving too often, and it frustrated him. Despite Clara's assurances he could tell she missed him as much as he did, hated the cold bed and the mornings spent without each other.

'I'll be back the day before we move.'

She nodded. This was the longest they were going to be apart from each other. He sighed, taming her hand gently. Four whole weeks without Clara was going to be agony.

'You don't have to go just yet.' She told him, her hands stopping at his waistband until she slid her hand down his trousers and palmed him through his pants. He was trying to resist but her touch was just too enticing. He moved in closer, leaning down to kiss her neck. He was fully aware he was already late for his journey to the airport but all that mattered to him was Clara, her hands that slowly made it harder for him to let go. She walked backward, too consumed in her to really notice. It was his phone buzzing with the alarm that distracted him and finally returned him to his senses.

'I need to go.'

'Stay.' She told him, her eyes boring into his, their foreheads already pressed against each other's. While he made no attempt to move just yet she undid the buttons on his trousers.

'I can't, Clara.'

'Oh come on, you're not called the Doctor for nothing.'

'I was your Doctor last night.' He reasoned.

'But you won't for the next month.'

That was enough to draw him in further, and Clara guided him forward until she hit the bed. He lowered her down while she pulled him toward her, her arms lapsing round his shoulders as he pressed a kiss to her neck. He knew it was too soft, too gentle. Clara tore his shirt off him and kissed him aggressively. He smiled ecstatically at her notions, undressing himself as fast as he could. She wrapped her legs round his waist, and their hips met in impatience, making him lose control and moan loudly in her ear. Their lips met once again and Clara took her dominance to advantage, thrusting just as hard as he was and gliding her palms everywhere over his body, making him feel slightly dizzy. Clara had always proved to be the power bottom, able to control him form any position at any time of day. Her leniency never wavered neither, and it was one of the things he admired and loved about her.

'I'm so late.' He whispered, nuzzling into her shoulder and kissing a trail down to her breasts.

'Isn't it better to be late than early?'

'I'm pretty sure it's the other way round.' He chuckled against her skin.

'Does it matter?'

'No, but I really have to go. I wish I could just stay here and do this all day long.'

'Nothing's stopping you.'

He laughed. 'My career's stopping me.'

He rested his chin against her collarbone, looking at her ardently for a while.

'Shit, I really need to go now.' He said, waking up from his daze and glancing at his phone, which was lit up with messages and missed phone calls.

'Fine.' She agreed, finally sitting up. He couldn't help kissing her again, his own legs encircling her waist. But he had to draw away.

'Right, dress me up, and then I'll have to go.'

They dressed hurriedly, Clara mostly helping him to look presentable, fixing his dark blue bow tie and straightening his tweed jacket. Once they were both fully clothes he gathered his luggage once again and they finally stepped outside their door. As they made their way downstairs they spotted the awaiting car parked outside.

'I wish I could have just gone on the motorbike.' He sighed, turning to face her again. A man climbed out of the car, waiting for him to enter it.

'I'll see you later.'

'I wish.'

'Yeah, I do too.'

A moment passed, the light passing over them and making their hair shine.

He kissed her one last time for as long as possible, and hoping it would sustain him for the next few weeks. Yet he knew it never could. Their lips parted at last and he smiled at her. He climbed into the vehicle, his eyes never wavering from hers. She grinned at him encouragingly, but he didn't return her smile. She was strong, he was still staring at her with longing. As the car started he felt the usual loneliness in his stomach already beginning to envelope him. He kept her eye contact to the last moment, and then she was completely out of eyesight. His head faltered and eyes dropped. The notion of seeing her again was what kept him awake. But as they entered the airport he was excited tremendously at his next visit, and couldn't wait to interact with everyone there. He just wished Clara was there with him.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Clara was happily chatting to Rose when he put his arms round her. She looked up at him and smiled although in her eyes was some kind of social embarrassment. He guessed no one had ever dared to do that to Clara, and especially when she was talking to someone. Thankfully she didn't push his arms away but stood there with eyebrows raised.

'See what I have to live with?'

Rose laughed in return. 'It still astonishes me that you've been with him all this time.'

'Yeah, well, I can't get rid of him, can I?' She said, staring him down as he kissed her shoulder.

'No, you can't.' He told her.

He continued teasing her which quickly grew to annoyance. Clara was struggling to keep the conversation up and hold her drink steady when he knew exactly what she was thinking, which was exactly what he wanted. It was to be expected after a few drinks with him, Clara knew herself after only four and he would be in the mood for most things.

'Stop it!' She slapped his hand away comically, trying not to laugh. He knew that a drunk John was her weakness. He was much harder to control believe it or not, and Clara very much liked putting him back into place. So when she had finally had enough of his antics she pulled him by his arm and out of the club while Rose laughed hysterically. She threw him so hard he nearly ended up on the ground. He didn't mind however, he was laughing too. She walked up to him, trying to hide a smile as he giggled down at her. She pointed her finger sternly and held him by his jacket. He was almost as red as his bow tie and his eyes were drooping. From smoking or tiredness he didn't know. All he knew then was that he was on a buzz and Clara was pinning him exactly how he wanted her to. His eyes shifted in and out of focus but enough to see her beautiful face looking back up at him.

'What the hell are you doing?' she asked matter-of-factly.

'Well, I'm currently having a good time.'

'Really? Well, if you want a good time, don't get in my way.'

'I don't mean inside the club, I mean out here.'

'You are messed up, you know that?'

'Yep.'

'Do I honestly need to take you home like a crying baby?'

'Nope.'

'You're so annoying.'

'How?' He asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

'All the little things that get on my nerves.'

'See, that's where we're different, because I love all your little things.'

He really was delusional, and Clara could tell that.

'You're not to cuddle me like that or do anything embarrassing, okay?'

'You love it really.'

'John, I don't know how to tell you this, but even at home it annoys me.'

'No, it doesn't. Remember that massage I gave you?' He changed the subject.

'You've completely lost your mind, you're higher than I thought.'

'I did it when I massaged your shoulders and you didn't protest.'

'Yes, that's because I was having a massage! Men, honestly.' She sighed, shaking her head. 'You are going to behave, because I'm not lumbering you around being sick on the pavement. If you want to come near me, don't do anything cringy or I'll take you home.'

He only grinned at her. 'Yes, ma'am.'

She finally let go of him, her eyebrows raised with disbelief at his drunken state.

'I thought you had a reputation to uphold.' She teased him.

He smirked back at her. 'What, and I'm not aloud to break things? I doubt anyone would recognise me here.'

'Except the whole club. You've already promised one guy you'd sign his shirt.'

'Oh yeah, I did, where is he?'

'Hey, John,' she waved her hands and clicked her fingers in front of his face, 'snap out of it.'

He was still looking bewilderedly crazy, and one step had the potential to knock him down to the floor, which was why she took hold of him again.

'Are you sure you want to carry on, lightweight?'

He nodded. 'Yep!'

She shook her head again at him, this time observing his whole body and how it seemed to tilt to the side. His eyes that seemed possessed and movements that were slack. His clammy hair from the club and the night air, his easy and lazy smile. Something about him was so much more attractive like that. She reminded herself to persuade John to go out with her more like they used to, not just to conventions.

'Do you wanna go back inside?' She asked. At the sound of her voice again he seemed to awaken, and his eyes fixed to hers instead of a spot in the distance.

'Yeah.' he confirmed.

'Alright, just don't do anything cheesy.'

He nodded, and then leaned down to kiss her. She could taste the alcohol on his lips in which she thought was very inviting. Everything about him now in this state she craved for attention but he wanted to carry on partying. All she wanted to do in that moment was drag him to the bedroom, as his tongue circled hers and their sloppy, drunk kisses came to an end. He smiled as he walked past her, and she called out to him.

'Behave.'

He gave her a thumbs up in reply and soon was swallowed back into the club. After a few moments she followed him in. The noise was much clearer and madder in her head, making her feel slightly disoriented from the silent night outside.

'There you are again. Did you sort him out?' Rose asked.

'Of course I did.' She replied, accepting the beer bottle gladly.

'Where is he now?'

'Probably gone off to sign someone's t-shirt.'

'Haha, wouldn't be surprised.'

She tried scanning the crowd, yet couldn't find him. It was weird how she now wanted him there when she had told him to do the opposite. John would probably end up swinging on the light shades by the time they decided to leave, anyway. He was a big dramatic.

••••

He walked her through to the kitchen, observing the polished marble countertop and rounded table with accessories already laid out. Since moving into their much grander house Clara had spent most of her time in the studio which was made into her own art space, and not to be disturbed. They had officially moved in two months ago and they still had to adjust to the capacity of it all and the rigorous cleaning in order for it to remain that way. It hadn't been easy, as both of them were more or less lazy, messy slobs that only cared for artistry and writing but John at least had made an effort. He had even managed to get Clara to clean the living room.

He was smiling as Clara shifted and he moved her closer. He was covering her eyes from behind and he could tell she was hating every moment. He finally uncovered her eyes and grinned. She looked up at him, almost disbelievingly.

'Seriously?'

He only grinned wider and rounded the table all set with dinner plates and wine glasses.

'What's life without a little romance?'

'A perfectly fine one.'

'Aw, come on, do this one thing for me.'

She shook her head at him, sitting down and smiling.

'Why are you doing this?'

'Because I want to terrify you with the cringiness.'

'You're doing a very good job.'

He inclined his head, sipping from his wine flute.

She started to take out a roll up, but John stopped her.

'Not at the dinner table.'

'Are you serious?'

'Very.'

'Clara, there are some romantics in life, and I believe one of them is having a nice dinner with your partner. I could ask every other woman and they'd swoon at the sight.'

'You're with the wrong gal. You do know that, right?'

'Of course I do. But I wouldn't have it any other way.' His eyes twinkled at her over the rim of his glass.

'Alright, Romeo. You better not whip out any poetry.'

'Shit, there goes my plans.' He joked.

'Just checking. Being a writer presents many horrors for an emotionless druggie like me.'

'I don't believe you're emotionless. I believe that you stifle most of them, Clara. I've seen you sensitive, I've seen you hurt, I've seen you scarred, both physically and mentally. I know there's a Clara in there that would appreciate all of this, that is just as modest and humble and scared as the rest of us. But I'm doing this because, no matter what you do and who you are, I love you, and I don't care if you never say it back to me because all I need is for you to be right here, by my side. That's all I care about, and I know that you love me in return. I don't expect you to say anything, but as long as I know. I love you, Clara Oswald, and that's never gonna change. And I want to drink to that.'

She didn't...couldn't respond to his speech. She knew her silence would say it all, because for the first time she was lost for words. But she did raise her glass and drink, and not for them as a whole, but for him. It was very, very rare Clara was moved by anything but that generally touched her. And she realised how lucky and how undeserving she was of him.

He smiled at her silence, and got up to take out their dinner from the oven. She smiled as he placed the food in front of her. John only realised he was ravenous and tucked into his meal straightaway.

'I'm sorry if I cheesed you out with that.' He apologised, washing down his first course with wine.

'No, it's...it's fine.' She met his eyes. He smiled angelically back at her.

'Plus, it is a tradition within most relationships to celebrate an anniversary with a prepared meal.'

'I'm sure it is. The food is excellent, by the way.'

'Exactly three years of cooking for you and you've only just noticed? Thank you.'

'Hey, I just complimented you, don't start getting more out of me.'

He smiled fondly. Clara had returned back to her normal self after the aftermath of his speech, where she had become eerily quiet. He decided he liked this side a little more than others. She kept him on his toes.

'Ready for dessert?'

'Huh, you bet I am.'

John had to loosen his belt after the fullness of the meal and he guessed Clara was also at the same stage. She leaned back in her chair, her hand lazily holding her third glass of wine.

'You are so not getting drunk tonight.'

'Why not?'

'Because today is special.'

'Everyday is special apparently. What's so special about this one, again?'

She was teasing him, her eyebrows flickering and a smirk plastered on her face.

He circled round the back of her chair, threw his arms round her chest and kissed the side of her neck.

'Today is the day we met, so you can count that's pretty special.' He whispered.

'It is, is it? You know, I do wonder sometimes where I'd be now had I not met you. In Hell probably.'

'Hey, hey, hey, none of that. You, Clara,' he took her hands and pulled her up, 'are alive. So very much alive.'

John knew her smile was hard to resist. He pecked her lips, but as soon as he had moved away she was drawing him back in longer, their fingers intertwining. Her hand pulled him forcefully closer and he smiled.

'Is there another anniversary tradition you may have forgotten?' She asked him, a seductive smile pulling at her lips while her eyes shone at him so warmly it melted him down to the very core.

'Would you like me to show you?'

'Oh, please, lead the way.'

He caught her by surprise and pulled her up in his arms in a bridal fashion.

'Is this seriously part of the tradition?'

'It seriously is.'

She laughed, and he carried her all the way up to bed. As far as anniversary dinners and general life went, they were extremely happy with theirs.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

She came stumbling into the room, a smile on her face and he caught her in his arms, spinning her around for no reason at all. She protested violently but he didn't relent. He tried most times to shock her.

'Did you get everything?'

'Yep. I got you some extra of that pie you like and more paper to write on.'

'Didn't you get any art supplies?'

'No, I've got enough.'

'Really? I swear I saw your inks nearly used up-'

'I'm fine.'

She grinned but a trace of sadness pulled at her lips. He placed a concerning hand on her shoulder.

'Are you okay?'

She swallowed and his nerves kicked in. If something was troubling her it would surely terrify him.

'John,' she smiled, holding onto his braces, 'John, I am absolutely ecstatic. I can't tell you how happy I am. I'm so lucky.'

'Hey, what are you talking about?'

'I just want you to know that I loved every second.'

'You're scaring me now, Clara.' He told her jokingly, but meant it in every serious way possible. He could tell something wasn't right. He took hold of her arms, stroking her unusually cold skin with his thumbs.

'You were always the scared one. But you never had to be around me. You're strong.'

'Only because of you.' He whispered sincerely.

'I guess I've played my part.'

'Clara, you wouldn't understand how lost I would be without you right now. You're so very important and so very scaring the crap out of me. Are you sure you are actually sane?'

She nodded. 'As sane as I'll ever be.' Her hand reached up to caress his floppy hair, adoration like he had never seen before in her eyes, so much that it shocked him right down to the soul.

'John. You're the only one who has ever properly tolerated me before. Thank you.' She said softly. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Clara hardly ever said thank you. She never told him such words and spoke with such a bittersweet tone.

'Clara, please, what's happened?'

'You happened. And it was the best thing that ever happened to me.'

She leaned upward and pressed her lips to his, too gentle and caring and not passionate and fiery enough to be Clara. He was beginning to worry about her but let himself melt into her sweet kiss. Deepening it and holding on tighter to him, Clara didn't release him at all. She drew only a centimetre apart, and he could feel her breath on his mouth. She brushed his lips with hers again, so briefly and intimately that it took him a moment to realise what was happening. She collapsed right then and there, her kiss ending and eyes rolling up into her skull while she slid helplessly down his body. His eyes widened in shock and as she fell to the floor he caught her, still cradling her closely in his arms. His shortage of breath was caused by the panic that now convulsed his heart and terrified him more than he had ever been before. He took hold of her face, shaking it in his hands, willing her to wake up. Angry tears welled up in his eyes and he could hardly speak. Despite her weakening limbs she was still so very strong. She started shaking, and it felt like his heart was on fire, his skin was being impaled by spikes and his eyes were being burned by acid at the sight of her. He had never felt such pain, and as she shook harder he managed to see the flecks of white he hadn't noticed around her nose and mouth. Her body had shutdown due to a cocaine overdose. He made the most strangled, broken cry that could ever be heard, fatal to another's ears.

'Clara, you are not Uma fucking Thurman!' He shouted at her, tears of desperation still rolling down his cheeks and his anger aflame. He should have known, after the scare it had given him years ago it had reappeared months later and destroyed the most beautiful woman in the universe. What the hell had Clara been thinking? He should have took better care, noticed something, anything. It felt like he was being ripped to shreds. Worthless, useless particles that were nothing without Clara. He was furious, at her, at himself, at the universe, for doing this to her.

His whole body held her close to him, now still and lifeless. He had just lost the woman he loved in a matter of seconds, and yet the world still went by normally.

••••

He sat rigidly in the hard plastic chair, his head hung with shame and devastation. He observed the boring and plain white tiles and walls of the hospital, knowing in his head exactly what Clara would have said about it if she knew. His eyes averted to the figure resting in the bed, hooked up to all sorts of like preserving machines and drips. Right now he was in hell. No, not hell, that was too kind. He was in a menacing limbo for lost souls. He couldn't even describe what he was feeling as he took her hand in his. It was like stone, smooth but irrevocably cold. He willed for a pulse as he kissed it. He stared up at her, eyes no longer in view but hair spanning the length of her pillow. Even like this she was so beautiful.

'Why did you do this, Clara? Why did you do this to me? What point where you trying to make? Did I do anything wrong?' His eyes glistened and betrayed every flavour of remorse and devotion for the woman in bed.

'Why did you leave me?' He sobbed, not being able to look at her further. He buried his face into her hand like he was trying to breathe life back into her. It was the most excruciating pain he had ever experienced. How could she have hated her life so much she would commit suicide? With every passing thought he began to detest himself more and more, feeling most suicidal himself. A group of nurses and doctors came in and crowded around her but it was like they were alone still. Time went by like nothing, everything came and went while he still clung onto that one life force still connecting him to her. He didn't know what they were doing but soon enough one of the nurses came to face him. Her grave expression did nothing to soothe his already wrecked soul.

'We tried pumping out the cocaine from her body, but she was too far gone. Her dosage was extremely high and we couldn't do anything else for her. Her heart had stopped. I'm so, so sorry for your loss.'

He couldn't say anything, her words resonating in his head and making his own heart slow. They had crushed him from the inside out and he sat deadly and terrifyingly still, unreacting. His eyes are so full of rage he misinterpreted the nurses sympathetic look for him. Once every other person had filed out he dropped her hand, letting it fall over the side of her bed. His head fell into his hands and he finally let out a guttural sob.

••••

He walked through the door aimlessly, like a ghost. It slammed behind him but he hardly heard the sound. He stood in the centre of the living room, unable to feel anything and staring at an undeserving spot. Memories flooded his damaged mind and filled him with irrepressible sorrow. He had just come back from saying his final goodbyes. Of course she had wanted to be cremated, he thought, reflecting back on a conversation he had had with her months ago. Clara Oswald was now only smoke, an appirition in hell, and it made him sick. He wondered round to the kitchen where he noticed a piece of paper he hadn't before. Unfolding it impatiently it revealed Clara's recognisable rounded script and tears dropped to it, melting into the paper and almost smudging the words. Holding it close to his chest he sat down in the nearest chair and wiped his tears. As soon as his eyesight focused properly he began reading with a painful reminiscent smile on his face.

John

I told you once that I'd lived way beyond my limit, and that was a few decent years ago. You have to know that I only did this because I never desired to grow older, and that I've already grown too old. I'm sorry. You must stay strong for me, though, John. I know you can do it. If you decide to do anything I did I will personally come back to haunt you. Don't you dare think of ending your life just because I ended mine, you deserve to live a long life. And if you find another love I give you all my best wishes. But something tells me you never will do that, and I'm sorry for damaging that, because I know you wanted a normal life. My only regret was hurting you. Please don't beat yourself up for this in any way, because it wasn't your fault and nothing you did made me commit suicide. You've given me so much more than I deserved, so much love and care and memories that will remain with me forever. Carry on with your books and your life, and have a good one.

I love you

Clara.

John stared at the words, his fingers running over the letters that she had written in her own hand. He began to cry happy tears. She had finally said 'I love you' to him. Looking down to the ground he smiled and exhaled shakily, every emotion attacking him at once and a burst of love exploding in his heart.

'I love you too.'

As he stared back at the letter he turned it over, and nearly missed the extra note scribbled there.

P.S - you're a 25.

He laughed, returning to that memorable first night, where she had last told him he was a 35. Even in death she had a sense of humour. As he closed his eyes and hugged the letter, he thanked the universe for the life of Clara Oswald.


	21. Chapter 21

Final Chapter. Thank you to everyone who read, followed, favourited and reviewed this and I will let you know that Clara's death was planned to happen, and I'm sorry for the angst.

Chapter 21

 **Five Years Later**

John's nerves were overwhelming him, and his hands were shaking. Looking out among such a crowd he found it difficult to find words. His hand clutched the golden metal object proudly and his heart was beating so loudly he could feel it thump against his chest. He was so sensationally exultant there was no other way of describing it. John could feel wetness in his eyes but he had to stay strong. She was the one who told him that.

'I would like to thank so many people,' he said, leaning into the microphone, 'but I fear I don't have enough time. I would like to say I never thought I'd be where I am today and am so grateful for this beautiful award. Quick thank you's to the publishing house, who believed in me and were the first to accept my manuscripts in a long line of publishers. The TV production of my book, which is absolutely fantastic, and to all of you at home, who actually like my writing,' he said incredulously, and a bout of laughter circulated the room. And then his tone turned more serious, and he clutched his award tighter.

'The biggest thank you of all, is to the inspiration of my new book, and my one and only lover, who helped me so much during the days of my scruffy past and where she too believed I could make it with my writing. She died a long time ago now, but I take her with me wherever I go, and I know she's probably smirking up at me from Hell right now.' He smiled to the ground fondly, as if he knew she would be below the stage smiling back at him proudly, 'she was the most incredible, fascinating and dominant woman I had ever met and I fell for her straightaway. I like to think she did too but it took her a note in the kitchen after she died to ever say 'I love you.'' Another round of laughter, and he joined in. He looked back on those memories kindly now, because he had finally understood.

'She had a thing about age, and it scared me to no end. Clara was always a danger to herself and it was hard to stop her, but you couldn't stop someone like Clara, you could only slow her down. I think I slowed her down a lot, because when I met her at age 29 she told me she'd already outlived her expectation of death. And so I actually got a few more years out of her, and I am so, so grateful for that. I still don't know why she wanted to die young, not grow old with me. She was, and remains still, a mystery, wrapped in an enigma and squeezed into a skirt that's just a little too tight.' He chuckled. 'But I do understand her views of life and the 'science' behind it, per se. I do know that there were some bad things to happen in her life, some she never told me about, like her mother's cancer and her father's murder. She blamed herself for her sister's murder too, and maybe that's why she died, wanting to reunite with her family. Anyway, whatever happened and for whatever reason, I loved her more than I can ever explain and I still do. I thank you for my newest book, Keeping Up With Clara Oswald, and for the ability to keep an eternal Clara forever young in the pages. I think I might have rambled on a bit but now you all know. And I'm accepting this award on behalf of her legacy.' At that point, he had to wipe away a tear from his eye as the memory of his Clara became too much to bear and too much to talk about. He scanned the crowd and was shocked to see his heartfelt speech had in fact reduced a few people to tears too. With one final shaky breath he smiled nervously. 'Thank you.' He ended, and walked back to his seat. He could hardly hear the sound of generous clapping as he stumbled off stage. John had to squint his eyes and wipe them furiously to get rid of the tears but he was ultimately smiling. As he took his seat next to his friend, who clapped him on the back encouragingly, he clutched his award and closed his eyes, like he had years ago, and this time his words carried into the air.

'We did it, Clara, you and me. We did it.'

He could hear the slightest whisper on the wind, communicating back to him and he liked to think it was the voice of Clara Oswald, haunting him after all.


End file.
